


We Are All Hypocrites; With Fists of Ice

by CreativeBuzz



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Cheating, Childhood Friends, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Impotence, Jealousy, Jeronica, Miscarriage, Mutual Pining, Possessive Behavior, Secret Relationship, Self-Harm, Smut, Suicide Attempt, Teen Pregnancy, this fic is just Archie and Betty saying each other's names in different tones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:48:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 40,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23918563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CreativeBuzz/pseuds/CreativeBuzz
Summary: A spring break trip to a ski lodge in Vermont reveals long-held secrets. Will step-siblings, Betty and Archie, be able to return home the same?
Relationships: Archie Andrews & Veronica Lodge, Archie Andrews/Betty Cooper, Betty Cooper & Jughead Jones, Fred Andrews & Alice Cooper, Jughead Jones & Veronica Lodge, Jughead Jones/Veronica Lodge
Comments: 143
Kudos: 341





	1. Seed of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Multi-perspective. Multi-chapter. I’ll have more notes at the end clarifying which canonical events apply in this AU, but hopefully the story will answer any questions you may have. Enjoy!

**Chapter One:**

**Seed of Love**

“Keep your phone on you at all times, Elizabeth.” Alice plucked a bit of fuzz off of her lilac, cashmere cardigan. “Even on the slopes. Do you hear me?”

Betty nodded, even though she hadn’t been listening. Veronica was sending her picture after picture of their suites at Maple Valley Resort. The in-line Jacuzzi on the terrace. The oak-panel backsplash in the kitchen. The chrome-plated waterfall shower. Both bedrooms, each containing stark-white canopy beds, littered with rose-petals. 

**Veronica Lodge**

Nothing compared to Aspen, babe, trust me.

Can’t wait until you guys are here!! 

Hurry up! xoxo V

“Yes, Mom. I heard you.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard, you’re practically glued to the thing. And Elizabeth—please refrain from having sex with Jughead.”

Betty’s neck cracked from looking up suddenly. “Mom!”

“Don’t _Mom_ , me. I know you two are having sex, Elizabeth. I wasn’t born yesterday. All I’m asking is you don’t come back from this vacation expecting to give birth to Jughead Jones IIII.”

Something _clattered_ and both women swiveled their heads to find the source of the sound. Archie stood in the doorway to the kitchen, a duffel bag in one hand and Betty’s suitcase at his side.

“I was just getting ready to load up the car,” he said, in reply to the silent question on both of their faces. He tried catching Betty’s eye, but she quickly returned to her phone.

“That’s very sweet of you, Archie.”

Betty could hear the smile in her mother’s voice. She’d been much kinder to Archie ever since she and Fred began their relationship. Betty understood now—her mother’s intense dislike of Archie had stemmed from the fact that he was the product of the love of her life and some other woman. Still, sometimes she missed the days when Alice wasn’t Archie’s biggest fan.

“You’ll keep my daughter from being impregnated by that Southside cretin, won’t you, Archie?”

“ _Mom_.” Betty was livid now, her phone lying forgotten on the countertop.

Archie bent down to pick up Betty’s bag. His ears had turned a shade almost as red as his hair. When he straightened back up, however, he was _smiling_. His blinding, mega-watt smile, which he reserved solely for won football games and the rare occasion when Betty succeeded in making him laugh until his stomach hurt. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Andrews.”

“Alice, Archie. _Alice_. And I know you will. You’re such a good big brother. I trust you’ll keep Elizabeth safe and sex-free.”

“I can’t.” Betty jumped up from her stool. “I’m waiting in the car.” Truthfully, she still felt deeply unsettled when anyone referred to Archie as her _brother_. Shimmying past him, where he stood in the doorway, she nearly ran into Fred.

“Hey, kiddo. Woah! Where are you running off to in such a hurry?” he asked, good-natured as always. The tips of his hair were dripping water onto the towel wrapped around his neck.

“The car. The moon. I don’t care. Wherever is _far, far_ away from Mom and Arch discussing my sex life like I’m not even in the room.”

Fred sighed. “Sorry, Betts. She just wants you to be safe.”

“Yeah, _sure_.” She went to skirt around him, but he placed a gentle hand on her arm.

“Here. Have these.” Fred reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out several small packets. “Hand and feet warmers.”

He was always thinking of the little things. Accepting his gift with an easy smile, Betty’s annoyance was momentarily subdued.

“Thank you,” she said, gripping the packets tightly.

“ _Hey_.” Fred held out his arms and Betty allowed herself to slip into them. “Have fun, alright?”

Betty kept silent, but she held onto him for a long time. Her own father had never… Never been this kind. At least, not for no reason.

“I thought you were going to wait in the car.” Archie stood a few feet behind, watching them with a pleased expression.

“And I thought you were going to kiss my Mom’s ass some more,” Betty replied, releasing his dad. “Guess we were both wrong, huh?”

“Betty,” Fred said, glancing down at her in shock.

Archie shook his head. “It’s fine, Dad.”

As he headed for the front door, he had to pass by both of them. The narrow hallway and the bags he was carrying forced them close together. When he passed, Betty could smell Old Spice wafting from underneath his clothes. _Artic Blue_. She’d seen the bottle on his bed last night, bright-red amidst his crumpled shirts and underwear.

Archie tried not to linger when he smelt Betty’s shampoo. _Green apples_. It had always been green apples, since he’d known her as a child. He couldn’t eat an apple without thinking of her. But—then again—there weren’t many things he could do without thinking of Betty.

Everyone followed Archie’s lead out of the door and across the lawn. That is, until Alice started yelling about the grass. Archie’s car was parked on the street. He stationed their bags in the backseat, then went with Fred to grab skis from the garage.

“You’re going to be far from home.” Alice ran her palm across Betty’s cheek. “Make good choices, Elizabeth.”

Her mother—who, at best, could be termed _well-meaning_ —had no idea. The worst decisions Betty had ever made, she’d made under her roof. Alice was woefully clueless. The upstanding _big brother_ she’d tasked with keeping Betty “sex-free”? He was, in fact, the one she needed protecting from. Alice had no reason to worry about Betty and Jughead having sex. Betty and Jughead hadn’t had sex in weeks. Almost an entire month. Betty couldn’t wait to be on the highway, with her headphones in, blasting the latest podcast from _Better Days_ (a self-help program she’d started listening to) and ignoring Arch.

The trunk banged closed. At the back of the car, Fred and Archie were hugging one another.

Betty opened up the passenger side door, but was unable to climb inside before being roped into an awkward side hug with Alice. By the time she finally disentangled and lowered herself inside—with the door resolutely closed and the window up—Archie was waiting for her. He used his control panel to lower her window. Their parents were standing on the driveway—off of Alice’s pristine grass—waving.

“Drive safe,” Fred called.

“Do not come back pregnant!” Alice demanded, simultaneously wrapping her arm around Fred’s waist.

“Oh my god. Just _go_ ,” Betty urged. She kept her eyes forward and slouched down in her seat.

Archie laughed. He waved once, then rolled up her window.

“You ready?” He asked, his right hand on the gearshift, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Would you please go? _Now_.”

Archie put the car into drive. “Yes, ma’am.”

-+-

He hadn’t said he didn’t love her. If he had said he didn’t love her, that would’ve been that, wouldn’t it? Game over. Lights out on all her shiny dreams and glistening midnight fantasies. No more Betty and Archie driving off into the sunset in his dad’s refurbished 1997 Cadillac DeVille. No more Archie and Betty slow dancing at prom. Goodbye to waking up beside him in the morning, sunlight streaming through the curtains. She would’ve been done. _If_ he’d said, _I don’t love you. I never have_.

Instead, he’d blamed her perfection. His words were lovely, even as they cut her to the quick.

 _Of course I love you, Betty. But I can’t give you the answer you want. You are_ so _perfect. I’ve never been good enough for you. I’ll never_ be _good enough for you._

Looking back… What a shitty thing to say. Looking back, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t taken off one of her pink, Kate Spade heels and chucked the damn thing at his face. He was all wrong and—as much as he’d believed he was telling the truth at the time—a liar, too. 

The truth was, he’d been seeing Grundy. In the dark and in parked cars and in the music room at school. The truth was, he wanted to see Veronica. In Cheryl’s coat closet and who knew where else. The truth was, as much as he loved Betty, she simply wasn’t on his list of things to do.

In his own mind, he’d set her aside. Like a rare, cloth-bound, first-edition copy of _Beloved_. Like something precious on a shelf. Something you didn’t want to ruin and, therefore, couldn’t bring yourself to touch.

She should’ve been done after that. Anyone with even an _ounce_ of self-respect or dignity would’ve been done. Even if being done meant cutting off her best friend and next-door-neighbor of eleven years. Even if being done meant starving herself of the one good thing in her life—she should’ve. Anything to kill the seed of love she’d planted as a child. The seed she knew, then, would never sprout into anything grand. To be done, she should’ve sacrificed Archie before she ever went near sacrificing herself.

Except, she hadn’t. She hadn’t done any of those things.

Instead, she went through all the motions of letting go. Tears. Copious tears, for _days_. She allowed herself to mourn the perceived loss. To let the cut sting. She cycled through emotions—despair, rage, jealousy—until she made herself sick. She walked with Archie to school and said things like, “I still want us to be friends. _Best_ friends.” The _best_ part was important.

She tried smiling in the mirror and when she was lying in bed at night trying to go to sleep, practicing the smile she would inevitably need for when Archie walked into the room with his arm around Veronica. Sometimes, the vial of venom Betty kept locked up inside tipped over and onto V.

 _I was going to say you’re making a fool out of yourself. Just acting like some privileged, shallow, airhead party girl. I mean it’s all just recycled banter, plunging necklines, and throwing shade to distract us all from the fact that there’s really nothing going on underneath._ Everyone had watched her eviscerate her “best friend.” At the end of the day, who had they been kidding? Arch was her best friend. She only had the one.

 _The only reason Veronica hangs out with us is circumstance. The minute someone from her trashy past shows up, she starts using us for drugs, or music, or distraction. Why should we be surprised? Like father like daughter, right?_ Even Archie had looked away, then.

_You may have fooled all of them, but not me. Try and reform all you want, but you’re a bad person, Veronica. You’ll always be a bad person._

The Black Hood had given her the perfect excuse to spill her venom and still come up smelling like roses. She’d used the free pass to release a modicum of pressure, so she wouldn’t explode.

_You are the literal embodiment of Chris. Never has a role been more typecast. I mean, think about it. Spoiled rich girl? Check. Major daddy issues? Check. Bad to the bone? Trying to control everyone around her, including her boyfriend and best friend? Check, check, check._

Again, in front of everyone. The second time, however, she’d had no excuse.

“How could you be so mean to her?” Archie had asked.

After that, Betty began digging her nails into her palms hard enough and often enough to require gloves. It was the only way to keep herself in line. The only way to subvert her urge to hurt Veronica was to hurt herself.

Luckily, by then, late fall had sprung in Riverdale. She was falling in harder with Jughead and the Serpents every day. From time to time, she’d catch sight of Archie through her window, but she’d ceased feeling the tell-tale clench of desire to be with him. She almost convinced herself she didn’t need him anymore. Maybe she’d never needed him.

But there was still the fact of the _seed_. The seed of her love for him. It was alive. It had not died. She had not killed it. It laid there, buried in the secret, hidden part of her. Until thirty-six hours of no sleep. Until a gun to the head. Until Arch climbed his way into a coffin and she closed him in.

He’d been afraid, yet _sure_. Terrified and yet full of conviction, _somehow_. Even out of her mind with fear, she’d been awed by the way he accepted his fate.

He was willing to die for her. Simple as that.

Betty knew, then—she was _fucked_. Though the first creeping tendrils had taken their time breaking through the surface, the seed had sent its roots far and wide and deep. There was no hope of ripping the living thing out. Not without killing a piece of herself.

She told Jughead the kiss meant nothing. Archie told Veronica the same. He might’ve been telling the truth. How was she to know? They didn’t speak about the kiss. Not ever. Not even in private.

She dreamt about his eyes. About the slight nod of his head before she’d lowered the coffin lid. _It’s alright_ , he’d seemed to say. _Go on_. She dreamt he loved her, in all the ways, and in her dreams their love felt vital. As real as the blood pulsing through the vein on her neck. As though, if she’d wanted, she could’ve placed a finger on the love and taken its pulse. She slept often and told herself it was because she was tired. Her father had been hauled out of the house in handcuffs by federal agents. She was now the daughter of a serial killer. How much could one girl take? She’d been tortured. Traumatized. She deserved to rest, didn’t she? But deep down, she knew what she was really after.

The love. His love. Their love. 

Three months after her father was sentenced, their parents started having sex.

-+-

“Is that?”

Archie held out a beer, fresh from the cooler, dripping ice. “Here, have this.”

Betty settled down into the lawn chair beside his. He must’ve known she would find him here. The sun was setting against the trees. Fireflies and love bugs chased each other around, zipping past the petunias in Fred’s back garden and hovering above his vibrant green grass.

“Tell me that’s not what I think it is,” Betty said.

The faint sound of their parents coupling made its way to them from the second floor of Archie’s house. Betty’s mother sounded like a cat. A cat _in pain_.

“Wish I could.” Archie sighed, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. The skin on his face was red, which might’ve been from second-hand embarrassment, but might’ve also been from sitting in the sun for hours. His eyes met Betty’s momentarily. 

Feigning unaffectedness, Betty brought the beer to her lips and took a measured sip. Precisely then, Alice let loose a particularly high-pitched, particularly _long_ scream.

Her unaffected sip of beer went flying out of her mouth. She didn’t miss the split-second of shock on Archie’s face before he lost all semblance of seriousness. He drove himself crazy with laughter. Betty nearly choked, as he rocked back and forth in his seat, overcome to the point of bursting.

Reaching out, she slapped him on his arm. “ _Stop_.” But she could barely get the word out.

She was laughing, too.

-+-

“ _Betts_. Open the door.”

Betty’s heart thrummed inside her chest like an erratic hummingbird trapped inside a tightening fist. She was going to die. Surely. The walls of the bathroom pressed inward. The floor warped underneath her, concaving into a bowl-shape. Her body slouched near the toilet. She’d thrown one of her arms over the bathtub rail and stretched out each of her legs. Feet akimbo. Her toes were impossibly far away. Leagues, fathoms, miles away. A stray pill, dull-pink and round, had fallen underneath the sink. The door loomed high—a white tower—and Betty watched as it shook in its frame with the occasional _bang_. Beyond, muffled and increasingly frantic, was Archie’s voice.

“For God’s sake— _please, Betty_!”

 _I’m fine. Don’t come in. I’m fine_ , she tried to say. Only she could hear the words coming out of her mouth and they didn’t sound like words. They didn’t sound like anything. Betty tried to feel her lips—tried to mold them around a sound—and found she could not. She was going to die. Surely.

The door burst open.

Arch rushed in. She couldn’t see his face—perhaps the facial recognition part of her brain had already ceased firing—but she knew it was him. Her best friend.

 _You’re on fire, Arch._ More gibberish came spilling out of her mouth.

“Betty.” His voice was wrong. It was missing something important. He crouched down in front of her. The edges of Betty’s vision were growing dark. “What did you do? _Huh_? Tell me what you did.” He had his hands on her shoulders. “Did you take something, Betty?”

Betty was barely conscious. She couldn’t have nodded if she’d wanted to. There was cotton in her ears. His voice was coming to her from down a long tunnel. Even so, she hated he had to see her this way. Remember her _this way_.

“No, no, no, no, no. Betty, open your eyes. Open your eyes!” He was shaking her. Betty roused herself, but she could feel the last vestiges of her control slipping away.

That’s when he stuck his fingers down her throat.

Betty came back from the brink with a vengeance. It’s amazing what the body can and will do. Her previously limp hands shot up from her sides to clutch at his forearm. Her nails dug into the hand he had partially inserted in her mouth. _Too late_. Her stomach rolled and a torrent of sick washed up her throat onto her chest.

“ _Uhhhhhh_.” She wasn’t crying, exactly. More of a pained whine.

“Shh, that’s good. That’s good, Betty. Come on.”

Betty felt her body being moved. The fingers were back in her mouth. This time, though, her stomach’s contents emptied into the toilet. She heard the _splash_. Again. Fingers. Throat. Again. Stomach tightening. Roiling. Until there was nothing left.

Arch finally allowed her to slip back onto the ground. The energy had fled her body entirely.

“ _Why_ , Betty?” His voice was high. Cracked. He was crying.

She wished she could answer him, but she couldn’t. Instead, she went to sleep.

-+-

He hadn’t said he didn’t love her. He hadn’t lied to her, even though lying might have simplified things. Lying to Betty never even crossed his mind. Never. She was worse than truth serum for Archie—she was the north pole to his metaphorical moral compass.

He hadn’t lied when he told Ronnie, _I’ve never felt whatever it is I’m supposed to feel with Betty._ He’d simply allowed her to draw her own conclusions from his statement. He never had felt the right thing for Betty at the right time. As Betty’s best friend, his desires breached the boundaries of being strictly platonic. He would’ve married her in a heartbeat from ages four to twelve. Whenever she expressed her desire for them to become romantic, he’d retreated in fear. Betty deserved more than just another horny, teenage boy who didn’t know what he was doing. Who didn’t know how to love properly yet. He knew their friendship could survive his rejection, but he wasn’t _as_ sure they could survive being each other’s firsts. First relationships always ended. As much as he loved her, as much as the plump tears cascading down her face shredded his soul—he couldn’t, in good conscious, give her the answer she wanted.

Veronica wasn’t a simple girl. She wasn’t the type of girl to hear her boyfriend say, _I do like her. I always will_ , and not get the memo. She’d said she understood: deep down, a part of him would always belong to Betty. _Fine._ If Archie thought of a certain blond-haired beauty while he was fucking her—fine. If, in the middle of the night, he sometimes said her name in his sleep—also fine. He was still fucking _her_. He was still sleeping in _her_ bed. She’d been caressing his face when she’d said that. 

Archie and Veronica were more similar than most people knew. Veronica was used to having nice things. She’d grown up privileged and pampered. She was an only child who’d never been asked to share. She protected her things with the straight-forward viciousness of a black jaguar. Archie was the same (minus the pampered upbringing). His father had instilled in him an intense preoccupation with caring for his possessions; with protecting whatever he held closest to him. It’s why he’d started the Red Circle. Its’ why he’d procured a gun. It’s why he hadn’t hesitated when the Black Hood told him to lie down in a coffin and be buried alive. He would do anything to keep his town safe. To keep his family safe. To keep his _Betty_ safe.

 _A little part of me always thought—._ Archie hadn’t been about to lie then either. Even though Jughead was his _friend_. Even though Betty had obviously moved on and was finally happy again. He was an asshole. A truth-telling, undeserving asshole.

He hadn’t lied _to_ Betty or _about_ Betty until …

“She’s at Veronica’s. They’ve got a Chemistry project due on Monday. I think she said she’ll be there all weekend.” Archie wasn’t the best liar, but he tried to come off as casual.

Fred and Alice were lying on the couch, wrapped up in one another. There was a fire going in the fireplace and they had the radio on. Archie felt out of place where he stood at the foot of the stairs.

“That girl. Alright, thank you Archie.” Alice waved him off with a lazy hand.

Archie ran up the stairs and, instead of going into his room at the far right end of the hall, he slipped into Betty’s. He didn’t know what he’d need exactly. Clothes. Surely, clothes. Toiletries. Betty’s journal laid face down on her vanity. Should he take that? He threw the pink, leather-bound journal into his gym bag. If she didn’t use it, so what? He gathered a few more of her things, then catapulted back downstairs.

“Off again? So soon?” Fred noted.

“Yeah, I’m just heading to the field. I’ll be back later. Don’t wait up.” Archie was already half-way out the door.

-+-

Three months after the wedding and Fred still hadn’t sold his house. He talked about renting the place out—a _second income_ , the whole shebang—but Archie knew his dad wouldn’t want anyone else living in the house he’d built. The house where Archie had grown up.

The place sat empty. Dark. Archie scrambled up the front steps and through the familiar entry way.

“Betty!”

He didn’t hear anything at the bottom of the stairs except his own harsh breathing. Archie took the stairs two at a time. He hadn’t wanted to leave her—not even to go next door and pick up her things—but she’d been awake. Coherent. Strangely _normal_.

Arch opened the door to his bedroom. He’d expected to find Betty lounging on his bed, buried beneath the covers, or sitting at his desk. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t—

“Betty!” he called, his voice ragged.

“Arch?”

Archie followed the faint, questioning sound to his bathroom. Instinct taking over, he pressed down the door handle and shoved his way inside.

“Bett—”

“ _Archie_!”

Betty was in the tub. The bathtub. Betty was in the bathtub, naked. Naked. Betty.

“Fuck.” Archie was no longer inhabiting his own body. He felt his eyes wander over Betty’s glistening, wet legs. He tried stopping them before they zeroed in on her nipples, with no such luck. There they were, pink and pebbled and proud, sitting up on her chest like they had the right to be seen _all the time_. Archie heard a ringing in his ears and came back to himself. He averted his gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—I was just _worried_ when I didn’t hear you and you weren’t in my room.”

There was movement in the water. “I’m fine, Arch. You don’t have to burst in every time I use the bathroom alone. I’m not going to…”

 _Try to kill yourself again_ hung in the air between them.

In his peripheral vision, he could see the silhouette of her nude body, dripping water. He grabbed a towel off of the rack by the door and handed it to her.

Betty sniffed. “Thank you.” She wrapped the towel around herself and stepped out of the tub. “You can look now, Arch.”

He heard the edge of annoyance in her voice. It didn’t bother him. He kept his gaze on the wall beside her. “I’ve got some of your stuff. I’ll bring more over tonight, when Mom and Dad are sleeping.”

“Don’t call them that,” she said. Red rings encircled each of her eyes. Archie was beginning to suspect she’d been crying before he’d arrived.

He smiled, even though he didn’t feel like smiling. “What should I call them?”

“ _My_ mom. _Your_ dad.”

“What difference does it make?” Maybe her tone did bother him. Maybe he was upset, too, only he couldn’t yell at her. Not _now_. Not after what she’d done.

“Just go, Arch.” She waved a lazy hand at him, just as her mother had. Archie knew she would’ve hated to know just how similar they were. “Leave the clothes. I need to get dressed anyway.”

Archie hauled the bag onto the bathroom counter. “Get dressed. I’m not leaving.”

“Arch!” She was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry, Betty,” he said, meeting her blazing-blue eyes. “I’m really sorry, but I can’t leave you. I went against my better judgement bringing you here—because I didn’t want you to get in trouble or to _suffer_ any more than you already have—but now everything in my body is telling me I did the wrong thing. That if something happens to you, it’ll be my fault.”

“Nothing is gonna happen!” she yelled.

“Neither of us know—”

“I’M FINE, ARCH.”

“YOU’RE NOT, BETTY.”

His voice reverberated in the small bathroom. The silence that followed was interspliced by their dogged breath and the slow _drip_ of water from Betty’s hair onto the tile floor.

He’d just yelled at her. Goodness _fucking_ gracious, was he was an idiot?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to yell.”

Shiny, uninterrupted tears streaked down either side of her face. “No. You’re right.” She sniffled. Archie noticed her chin begin to quiver and his heart lurched out of his chest. “ _I’m not fine_ , Arch.”

Her shoulders curled inwards. Standing there, wrapped only in a white towel, hair limp and dripping—she looked like a drowned bunny.

“ _I’m not fine_ ,” she repeated. Great, gasping sobs punctuated each word. Like she was running out of air.

Archie stalked forward. In that moment, he gathered all his strength, all his care, all his love, and bundled the store in the center of his chest. He stood up straighter. Every step felt purposeful, because every step brought him closer to her. There was nothing else for him to do right then except comfort her. He knew exactly how to do so because he’d done so a thousand times. Wrapping himself around her _bear-hug style_ —practically gluing his entire front to hers—he gently tucked his head into the crook of her neck and squeezed.

Betty’s sobs lessened in intensity. They were more like little gasps, now. She pressed the side of her face to his neck.

“I love you, Betty,” he said, squeezing her tighter. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Her arms came up to wrap around his middle. “I love you, too.” Her voice was nothing more than a faint whisper, but at least she’d stopped hyperventilating. “Thank you.”

Betty’s body felt right pressed against Archie’s. _Perfect,_ in fact. She began to move, wiggling and twisting, so he loosened his grip, assuming she wanted to be let go of. Betty put about an inch of space between their bodies. Her damp towel dropped onto his feet. Then, she returned herself to the broad warmth of his chest.

“ _Betty._ ”

“ _Arch_ ,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his neck. “I need you.”

Electricity, potent and immobilizing, zipped from her lips through the rest of his body. Her _skin_ was giving him the hardest erection he’d ever… _Fuck_. He’d ever experienced. Her nipples, poking through his shirt, weren’t helping.

Archie allowed his arms to drop by his sides. “Betty, stop…”

“ _Please_ , Arch?” Her leg came up and he wasn’t sure whether she was attempting to _climb_ him or _ride_ him. “Don’t quit on me now.”

“Enough.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her away. “We can’t.” Archie didn’t linger on her disappointment. Instead, he grabbed a set of her pajamas from his bag and set them on the counter. “Get dressed. Now.”

He turned his back on her, allowing her to dress in private. As though he hadn’t seen everything. As though the strip of hair leading to her pussy wasn’t burned into his retinas.

“Okay,” she said.

When he turned back around, she was in her matching pink tank and shorts. She’d tied her hair back into a low bun.

“Are you ready to go to sleep?” he asked.

Betty nodded. She looked exhausted.

Archie held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

When they’d settled in his bed together, Archie heard her crying. She was trying to be quiet. He was holding her from behind, with both of them facing the wall, so he’d be able to leave later without waking her up.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, leaning forward so he could see her face. “Why are you crying?”

“I’m _embarrassed_ ,” she said, as though it should be obvious. “I practically humped your leg.”

Archie laughed. He couldn’t help himself.

“It’s not funny,” she said, but the edges of her mouth had curled up. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Archie lowered his head. He couldn’t say any of the things he wanted to say. _I wish I hadn’t had to push you away. I wish you weren’t broken to bits right now. I wish we weren’t step-siblings, best friends, dating other people. I wish…_

“Don’t worry about it, Betts,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

-+-

Betty could see his mouth moving, but she couldn’t fathom why. Her headphones were _clearly_ in.

“What?” she said, tugging one out.

Archie took his gaze off of the road for a split-second in order to eye her. “I was just saying—Ronnie’s been sending me pictures of this place. It looks really cool. Kind of fancy.”

Betty nodded. “Yeah. She sent them to me too.”

“Oh.”

“ _Mm hmm_.”

“Are you excited?” he asked, fiddling with the radio dial to find a station that wasn’t gospel or static.

 _Was she excited_? Sometimes Archie amazed her with how blind he could be.

“Sure, Arch. I’m stoked,” she said, staring out the window at the passing corn fields. “Can’t wait to hit the slopes with V. Sip champagne in the Jacuzzi with you. Not have sex with Jug in our rose-petaled, King-sized bed. Oh and I’m really looking forward to Veronica asking me if I’m _okay_ fourteen-million times in that special tone of hers. I can hardly contain my excitement.”

Archie’s jaw tightened as he swallowed. “How long are you going to be mad at them for being worried about you?”

“About as long as I’ll be mad at you for telling them.”

He’d found a good station. Fleetwood Mac’s ‘The Chain’ was playing through the stereo.

 _Break the silence. Damn the dark, damn the light._ _And if you don’t love me now, you will never love me again._ _I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain._

The guitar solo ripped through their tension like lightning.

“How much longer until we get there?” Betty asked.

Archie sighed. “About five hours?”

Betty slipped her headphones back in without replying.


	2. Love is an Occupation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First night in the cabin. Archie and Betty's "wedding night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is *smutty*. 
> 
> Please, enjoy.

**Chapter Two:**

**Love is an Occupation**

The last fifteen minutes of the drive to Maple Valley Resort, Betty couldn’t see further than ten feet ahead. A densely packed forest of evergreens cocooned the car. The branches above, thick as arms and interlaced, blotted out the waning sun. Archie took the myriad twists and turns with practiced patience, slowing to a comfortable crawl until they finally emerged from the narrow road.

Betty was stunned by the view, which opened up before them like the pages of a children’s picture book. She even paused her podcast.

“This is incredible,” Archie voiced.

A smattering of bright boxes—fire-engine red, canary yellow, sky blue, and more—littered the bottom half of a snowcapped mountain.

“Those are the guest cabins?” Betty asked. She’d rolled down her window an inch to allow fresh air to blow in. The outside wasn’t as bitingly cold as she’d expected. Chilly? Sure, but also _crisp_. Sweet-smelling, somehow.

“I think so. Ron said we’re in… Shoot. Hold on, she sent it to me.” Archie didn’t take his eyes off the road as he reached his hand into the pit by the center console to root around. He held up his phone. “Here. Can you check?”

Betty grabbed his phone and typed in the passcode.

**Ronnie <3**

Already checked us in.

Just come straight to the cabin, babe.

RED. 4a and 4b. Can’t wait to *winky face*.

Love u, Archiekins!

“It’s the red one. _Uh_ , 4a and 4b.”

“Awesome. Can you text her? Let her know we’re here?”

“Sure,” Betty said, trying not to give away the fact she’d scrolled up and seen her name amidst his texts with Ronnie.

**Archie Andrews**

I can’t leave her right now, Ron.

She needs me.

**Ronnie <3**

and I don’t?!?!?

**Archie Andrews**

Try to understand…

**Archie Andrews**

Betty is my family.

**Archie Andrews**

Can we please talk about this?

Later? Face to face? I’ll come over

when I can, promise.

**Ronnie <3**

Did you convince her to come?

**Archie Andrews**

I tried. She’s barely speaking to me,

as it is.

**Ronnie <3**

This trip is for Betty.

She has to come.

**Ronnie <3**

I mean, I’m excited for us to spend

some quality time together, too.

Archie groaned and Betty accidentally dropped his phone. “Look at that, Betts.”

They’d ventured closer to the base of the mountain. Leaning forward, she could see the principal slope was steep. Several ski lifts ran along either side of a great, long stretch of snow. Little humans, bundled in puffy jackets and fuzzy earmuffs and black goggles, crisscrossed the landscape. The last of the day’s sunlight set the mountainside ablaze, tinging the snow pink and orange.

But, better than all of this, was Archie’s face. He looked about five years old.

“It’s beautiful, Arch.” _You’re beautiful._

Betty shook her head. She typed out a quick _we’re here_ to Veronica and then threw his phone back into the pit.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.” Betty was only coming to the realization this entire trip had been nothing more than an elaborate ruse to help her _feel better_. And, further, she had at least five days of pretending to look forward to. Pretending to be fine. Pretending to care about whatever inconsequential thing Veronica found important enough to rant about. Pretending to care about whatever inconsequential thing Jughead found important enough to rant about. Pretending to be attracted to her boyfriend. Pretending not to be attracted to her step-brother. Then, when this _vacation_ was over, she’d return home where she could pretend some more. “I’m just excited.”

.+.

“They’re here.” Veronica readjusted the thin strap on her camisole.

Jughead, where he leaned against granite countertops, sighed. “Let the wild fun and teenage antics begin.”

“I’m making drinks,” Veronica declared.

She descended from her barstool perch to flit around the kitchen, collecting ingredients for what was sure to be a sophisticated cocktail. Jughead was impressed. She even knew where the blender was.

“What’s the plan, Miss Lodge? To get us all liquored up before sun down?”

Veronica rolled her eyes as she plugged in the blender. “As always, Mister Jones, your alcohol consumption depends entirely upon you. I just want us all to be _loose_ ,” she explained, appearing anything but loose.

Jughead narrowed his eyes. “What’s up with you? You’re being even weirder than usual.”

Veronica scooped a cup of ice from the freezer. With her back turned, he wasn’t able to read her face.

“I want this break to be a fresh start. For all of us, but especially for Archie and I.”

Jughead nodded. “Trouble in paradise?”

She spun back around, as sprite and bubbly on the outside as he knew she was frightened and determined on the inside. “I wouldn’t say trouble, nor would I say paradise. We just need to get over this hump and we’ll be fine.”

 _Too easy_ , Jughead thought. “You’ll be fine, once you hump.”

Veronica didn’t crack a smile, which was to be expected, but she didn’t even roll her eyes and scoff at him. Instead, she paused mid-way through slicing a lime, her dark eyes staring blankly ahead.

“Just kidding.”

“We haven’t—”

“Haven’t what?” Jughead asked, leaning forward.

“We haven’t had sex,” Veronica admitted in one big _whoosh_. “In a while…” She added, lowly.

Jughead couldn’t stop his eyebrows from raising. “You and Archie haven’t had sex? _My, my._ Is the sky even blue?” When Veronica didn’t respond, he cleared his throat. “Since when?”

“Since… _Betty_.” Veronica’s eyes met his. “You know.”

Yes. Jughead did know. Although, he hadn’t known until sometime afterwards and he hadn’t known from her telling him. Still, he knew.

Shaking his head, Jughead asked, “What does Betty have to do with—?”

Veronica huffed. “I don’t know. It’s just my guess, but… Around then is when he started _having problems_.”

Jughead was starting to feel strange talking about this with her. “Problems?”

“You know,” she whispered, even though they were alone. “ _Achieving full mast? Finishing the race? Reaching home base?_ ”

“Archie can’t get hard.”

“Yes.”

Jughead started laughing.

“Jug!” Veronica returned to her limes. “It’s not funny.”

He could hear the latent tears in her voice and regretted finding humor in her predicament.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, Betty and I haven’t been together since—” _Since her suicide attempt._ “Since then either.”

She finally glanced back over at him. “Really?”

“Yeah. Look, this situation has been hard on everyone. Betty, first and foremost— _obviously_ —but Archie’s been put through the ringer, too. He’s the one who found her. He’s the one who had to keep it a secret from everyone he loves. We have to cut them some slack.”

The swift _click_ of a key turning in a lock stole both of their gazes.

“They’re here.” Veronica smoothed down her caramel, suede skirt and threw off any lingering discomfort. “Don’t tell him I said anything.”

Jughead threw back his shoulders. The front door was already opening. Veronica was already preparing to leave the kitchen—to play the perfect hostess, even though this cabin wasn’t hers—and he was already preparing to follow her.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said.

.+.

According to each of them, they’d been in love since high school. Fred helped Alice through a “difficult time” and, apparently, they’d fallen for one another. There was a blank in their story; a curious lack as to why they hadn’t been together from the start. Betty only knew they’d waited their entire lives.

Fred and Alice married last fall, after a year of dating. The end of October or the beginning of November? Betty could barely remember. She’d mentally blocked out whichever month. Her mind refused to recall the countless dress fittings and cake tastings. The innumerable trips to the florist and the embroidery shop. The never ending _drudge_ of writing invitations and packaging party favors.

The day of the wedding finally came. They’d had the ceremony outside. The weather was good. Billowy clouds occasionally blocked the sun and threatened later storms, but the air was warm. A gentle breeze blew Betty’s hair off of her shoulders and tangled up in the soft material of her dress’ skirt.

Dagwood had just come up the aisle with the rings. He’d tripped on the copious petals, recently deposited by his twin Juniper, but he’d continued on valiantly. Fred took the rings from the small boy and the minister recommenced his speech about the fidelity of love.

The entire time—through Juniper and Dagwood and the minister—they’d been staring at one another.

“Love is not simply a feeling. Love is an **occupation**.”

Archie didn’t know why he couldn’t breathe. Why his tie, all of a sudden, felt too tight? He kept his eyes on her because she looked beautiful in her pink dress and because he couldn’t bear to look at what was unfolding to his right. His _dad_ marrying her _mom_. He felt as though he were standing two inches from a nuclear explosion happening in slow motion.

“From the latin _occupatio_. Meaning “to be employed by something” or “the fact of holding or possessing something.” When we think of the traditional vows—which Fred and Alice have chosen to recite today—we remember the lines _to have and to hold._ Love asks us to be more than we are. More than we have been. More than we’ve yet dreamed we could be. Love is an occupation because, with love, we enter into the perpetual employ of someone else.”

Betty’s stomach had been cramping all day, but now seemed to have twisted itself into knots. She couldn’t smile. Even though she’d promised herself that morning she would be perfect, for her mother, she couldn’t seem to pull the muscles into the correct arrangement. At least Archie wasn’t smiling either. She might’ve cried if that had been the case. He looked altogether too handsome, in his suit, which his hair brushed back. Like he could be the groom. Betty realized she was digging her nails into her palms and forced herself to unclench.

“We are yoked to those we love. _Bound._ As the knights once swore their service to kings and queens and, as the vows reiterate, _I pledge myself unto you._ In other words: I promise to give my everything—all I am, holding nothing back—to loving you.” 

The six feet separating the two of them could’ve been bridged in less than two steps. Archie had counted. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like he was going to leap across those six feet half-way through his father’s wedding to kiss her in front of a crowd which contained his girlfriend.

Right?

“You may now kiss the bride.”

Betty couldn’t remember the vows. Nor walking over to the tent. Nor the last four flutes of champagne she’d purportedly drunk, out of seven. The next moment which happened to stand out, she’d been dancing with Jughead. She was resting her head on his shoulder and they were swaying. He’d had a bit to drink too, though not nearly as much as her.

“What’s wrong, _hmm_?” He’d asked, his hands skimming dangerously low on her back. “You don’t normally drink this much.”

Betty scrunched her eyebrows, but didn’t bother with raising her head. “I’m just having fun. It’s my mom’s wedding.”

“Right.” He was drawing circles on the small of her back. “So you’re not at all upset to be Archie’s new step-sister?”

Betty’s reaction was physical—her entire body recoiled. “What the fuck, Jug?” She pushed him away from her. He knew her too well. Enough to scrape across her open wound without breaking a sweat. Betty didn’t want him to smell blood in the water, so she played the part of offended victim. Her drunkenness helped. “How _dare_ you do this today. Of all days!” 

Betty felt a hand on her shoulder, pulling her backwards a few inches. Archie placed his body between her and Jug’s.

“What’s going on?” His characteristic friendly smile was in place. He’d come to diffuse a relationship bomb which might potentially ruin his father’s big day.

“Betty’s decided to drink about three bottles’ worth of Prosecco and take out her “seasonal sadness” on me. Why don’t you ask her what’s wrong? I’m sure she’ll answer you. After all, you are her big brother now.” Jughead caught Archie’s eye and emphasized the word _brother_ as much as he could. “I’ve got Serpent business tonight anyway.”

He stalked off without saying goodbye.

Then she’d been dancing with Archie. Somehow.

“Where’s Veronica?” Betty managed to slur. She’d kicked off her heels and had her feet on his. Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Just Called to Say I Love You’ was playing and Archie was doing most of the work.

“She left a while ago. She’s _uh_ —got a Model UN meet in Greendale tomorrow morning.”

“I forgot she did Model UN.” Betty’s hands were resting on his chest. Her eyes were half closed. “She’s so amazing.”

Archie chuckled. Across the dance floor, he could see his father dancing with Alice. Fred was as happy as he’d ever seen him. Glancing down at Betty, he wondered at how they could both be in the same position—dancing with the girl of their dreams—and yet feeling vastly different things.

“You’re amazing too, Betts.” He wasn’t saying so for her sake. He hadn’t even thought the words before he’d said them. Betty had that effect on him.

“I suppose I’m officially your sister now.”

His hands tightened on her waist. “No.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying.” Betty let her head fall onto his chest. She just wanted to be close to him. Fuck their parent’s wedding. Fuck the fact they were in the middle of the dance floor, surrounded by eyes.

“No,” he repeated, adamant. “Our parents got married today, but that doesn’t change anything. You’re my best friend. You’ve been my best friend since before I can remember. That’ll never change. Come on,” he said, stilling them both. He helped Betty to step down from his shoes, then grabbed her by the hand.

“Where are we going?” She suddenly felt much more sober.

“Come on,” he said again, a small smile now on his face.

Archie made a beeline for their parents.

“Hey. Dad.” Letting go of Betty’s hand, he held out his arms to his father. They embraced. “ _Congratulations_.”

Betty knew she ought to hug her mother, but…

“Congratulations, Mom.” She ran a hand down her mother’s arm.

“I’m _so happy_ ,” her mother cried, a tear slipping from the corner of her eye.

“Mom. Your makeup.”

“Oh, _yeah_.”

Betty smiled and used her finger to wipe away the runny mascara. “There.”

Archie, after releasing his father, took Betty’s hand again. “Betty’s feeling a bit tired, so I think I’ll get her home.”

They’d spent the last two days moving Fred and Archie’s things into what used to be the Cooper home. Archie and Betty shared a bathroom now.

“Look at him already looking out for his sister,” Alice cooed.

Betty felt Archie squeeze her hand.

“Alright, well. Be safe,” Fred said. “We’re heading straight to the airport from here, so. There’s money in the—”

“Underneath the cookie jar, in the kitchen. Betty knows where it is.”

“Use that for food. Remember to lock the doors. I already checked the windows, but double-check.”

“I will, Dad. Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.” Archie roped Fred into another hug. “Just have a good time.”

This time, a hug couldn’t be avoided. Betty relented to her mother’s arms wrapping around her. To be honest, it wasn’t so bad.

“We’ll see you on Wednesday,” Alice said.

.+.

They’d switched to liquor around nine, _against_ Archie’s better judgement. He’d accompanied Veronica to the kitchen to grab a bottle of lime Bacardi and four shot glasses, leaving Jughead and Betty in the hot tub alone.

“I can feel you clenching from over here,” Veronica noted. “Nothing bad is going to happen if she has a shot. Stop worrying.”

Archie shook his head. He didn’t want to ruin anyone’s fun, but…

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. That’s all,” he said.

Veronica slid her arm around his shoulder. “I’m going to say something and I don’t want you to take this the wrong way.” She leaned into him, already tipsy from two cocktails. “You may be her step-brother, but you’re not her _brother_ , you know? Betty is still your friend—full-stop—and she needs to have fun with her friends right now. Lay off the protective shtick, just for tonight.”

Archie swallowed. His body wouldn’t release the full measure of its tension. He’d have to pretend. Although, to be frank, he had felt a rush of pleasure at Ronnie’s reassurance. He wasn’t Betty’s real brother. He was her friend.

“Alright,” he said.

Ronnie grinned. “Come on, Archiekins. Tonight’s just getting started.”

.+.

He’d taken her straight home from the wedding.

Something different swam in the air between them. He’d let go of her hand to enter the car, then swiftly took hold again once inside. He’d turned on the radio—an oldie’s country rock station—and rolled the windows down to let the balmy night air in.

Betty, whose body felt about as stiff as a piece of cooked linguini, had placed her bare feet on the dashboard and allowed her dress to ride up her thighs. Archie, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye, had laughed.

When they’d arrived to the house, he’d opened the door with his own newly-minted key. Betty felt her stomach twist. They shared a home now. Not in the way she’d always imagined, but…

“Grab this,” he said, holding out her purse and shoes.

Betty accepted her things with a touch of confusion. “What are you—?”

Archie swooped down and, using his arm, knocked her feet out from under her. Betty screamed, even as she came to rest in his stable arms. Her heart was pounding furiously in her chest.

She smacked him on the shoulder. “What are you doing?”

Archie pushed open the front door and carried her over the threshold. “What’s does it look like I’m doing?”

Even though he wouldn’t be able to see in the unlit foyer, she still covered her blushing face with her hands.

“Welcome home,” he said, through a big, teasing smile.

“Same to you. Are you going to put me down at some point?” she asked.

“At some point,” Arch countered, carrying her into the kitchen.

.+.

The silence was awkward. Jughead sat across from her in the Jacuzzi, nursing the last of his cocktail. The three feet between them felt farther.

“You’re pissed,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

“How could you tell?” Betty asked, staring off the edge of the terrace and into the trees. Night had fallen and there wasn’t much to see other than silhouettes. Still, Betty knew the mountain climbed higher on the left and flattened into Maple Valley on the right.

“I know you.” Jughead set down his drink. “That, and the crease you get between your eyebrows.”

Betty brought a finger up to rub her forehead. Jughead laughed.

“What’s got you wound up this time?” he asked.

She didn’t like that. _This time._ Like she was always wound up.

“Nothing,” Betty said, because Archie and Veronica would be back any minute.

“Come on.” Jughead waded through the short distance between them before settling at her side. The blue light emanating from the water made him look strange. “Tell me.”

_Arch and V planned this entire trip in a roundabout effort to make me feel better. Instead, I feel like an after-school project. I didn’t even want to leave the house. I can’t stand everyone, including you, knowing what I did… Or, tried to do._

“It’s my mom,” Betty lied. “She made a big deal about us not having sex on this trip and… Well, Archie sort of entertained her.”

Jughead’s eyebrows raised. He hadn’t been expecting that. “Entertained her? How?”

Betty shrugged. “Just reassured her that he’d do his best to keep us celibate.”

A fire lit behind Jughead’s eyes. “Did he?”

Betty saw the plan hatch inside his mind in real-time. She knew him about as well as he claimed to know her.

“Shall we make his job extra difficult then?” he asked, his gaze flickering to her lips.

Betty smirked.

.+.

An unspoken agreement had been made. Archie didn’t know when. Perhaps, when he’d carried her through the door. Or perhaps far earlier, when they’d stood opposite one another and listened to the minister’s speech about love. Regardless of when—an agreement had been made.

An agreement to pretend they were the ones who’d gotten married.

Their parents wouldn’t be back for five days. _Five days._ As he scooped strawberry icecream into one bowl and vanilla icecream into another, he couldn’t stop thinking about how this house was theirs for the time being. He had no current plans to walk around naked or drink orange juice directly from the carton, but he felt freed to a certain extent.

“What’re we watching?” he asked, climbing on top of her covers.

“Thank you. I don’t know yet. It’s between _My Best Friend’s Wedding_ and _Hitch_.” Betty set her icecream down on her bedside table. She still hadn’t taken off her dress.

“Definitely—” Archie let his word draw out.

“ _Hitch_ ,” they both said at the same time.

“You can get under the covers, Arch.” Betty rolled her eyes as she pressed play on the TV remote. As cavalier as she was acting, she held her breath when he lifted the sheet. His leg, hairy and warm, brushed up against hers.

_Never lie, steal, cheat, or drink. But if you must lie, lie in the arms of the one you love. If you must steal, steal away from bad company. If you must cheat, cheat death. And if you must drink, drink in the moments that take your breath away._

By the time Hitch made his toast, Betty’s foot had begun to stoke his calf. Innocently, of course.

_You know what it’s like getting up every morning feeling hopeless, feeling like the love of your life is waking up with the wrong man? But, at the same time, hoping that she still finds happiness, even if it’s never going to be with you?_

By the time Albert Brennaman read Hitch the riot act, Archie had slipped his arm around her. He didn’t want her to be cold. He drew shapes on her shoulder because he’d seen _Hitch_ one too many times and because her skin felt soft. That was all.

_Because that's what people do! They leap and hope to God they can fly. Because otherwise, we just drop like a rock, wondering the whole way down, "Why in the hell did I jump?" But here I am, Sara, falling. And there's only one person that makes me feel like I can fly. That's you._

By the time everyone started dancing, Betty’s hand had come to rest on his thigh and Archie was rock-hard.

Betty paused on the credits. She’d turned her head—about to say something about how the movie never ceased to be good—when she realized how close they were. Her words caught in her throat. The hairs on her neck stood on end.

With only an inch between their open mouths, they breathed in each other’s air.

He kissed her.

Their kiss wasn’t a revelation. It was a _culmination_. Everything in Betty’s body knew this to be right. Correct. Inevitable. She succumbed to his exceptional tongue entering her mouth.

Archie wasn’t inside himself anymore. His mind was well and truly gone. Betty’s plush lips melded onto his. Her hand had migrated and now firmly gripped his erection. He’d never felt like this. Never.

They separated and the sound of their labored breaths hit Archie’s ears like a freight train. He wanted to ask what they were doing, but he knew exactly what they were doing. They were consummating whatever existed between them. They were making a declaration in the face of their parents’ wedding. They were effectively solidifying their right to love one another, as they always had.

Archie flipped on top of Betty and pressed his body into hers.

Betty brought her hands up to cup his face. She didn’t know what to say. Given what they were about to do, nothing seemed appropriate.

“I love you,” he whispered, leaning down to nuzzle his nose into her neck.

She ran her fingers through his messy hair. “How much?”

Archie ground his erection into her and Betty widened her legs.

“How much?” she asked again, surprising herself.

“ _Too much_ ,” he groaned, capturing her lips in another kiss.

Betty wasted no time unbuttoning his dress shirt and undoing his belt.

“How much?” she demanded. Lifting off the bed, she unzipped her dress. Meanwhile, Archie tore his arms out of his shirt.

“More than I’ve ever loved anyone,” he confessed, pulling his legs out of his pants one by one. He slipped out of his boxers next. “More than I love Veronica.”

Betty threw her dress onto the floor beside the bed and unhooked her bra. She plucked at the band on her underwear. “Take them off,” she commanded.

Archie licked his lips and, using both hands, slid her panties off. Settling back on top of her, he couldn’t believe how good her body felt.

“I love you too,” she said, finally.

“Oh, yeah?” He reached his hand between her legs to find her drenched—a deluge of wetness already making her thighs slippery—and used a single finger to part her labia. He felt her entire body clench. “How much?”

“ _Ah_ ,” she cried out. “Too much.”

She was sensitive. He liked that. “How much exactly?”

Betty couldn’t concentrate with him rubbing his finger in relentless circles. Her body wasn’t her own anymore.

“More than I’ve ever loved anyone,” she managed to whisper. “More than I love Jug.”

Archie slipped his finger inside her and she bit down on his shoulder—hard. He growled through the pain, intent on giving her pleasure.

“Arch, _fuck_.” Betty threw her head back, exposing her neck. Archie descended, lavishing her vulnerable flesh with kisses as his finger pumped in and out of her slick pussy. He added another finger and, at the same time, bit down where her shoulder met her neck. Pay back.

Betty hadn’t been expecting _that_. Her vagina clamped down on his fingers. Her toes curled. Her back arched off of the bed. He kept pumping into her as she came. He kept his eyes on her face, soaking up her pleasure like UV rays.

When she’d come down, he gently removed his fingers and kissed her.

“We don’t have to do anything else,” he said. Even though his erection was causing him physical pain. Even though he wanted to be inside her like he’d never wanted anything else in his whole life.

“No.” Archie felt her hand wrap around his dick. “I love you.” She used her other hand on the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss. “I love you.” She guided his tip until it lined up with her entrance. “I love you,” she said. “Now fuck me.”

Nothing more needed to be said. Archie slid home. Because that’s what she was for him. _Home._

.+.

Archie and Veronica returned from the kitchen to find Betty and Jughead making out.

Veronica cleared her throat. “Save it for the bedroom, you horn-dogs. We’ve got shots.”

The two separated—a sly grin on Jughead’s face. Betty caught Archie’s eye and a tendril of apprehension snaked from her heart all the way to her groin. It was more than she’d felt kissing Jug.

Veronica sank into the hot tub, both arms extending shots. “Come on, guys. Drink up.”

“What should we drink to?” Betty asked, trying not to look like she was waiting for Archie to climb down into the hot tub, as well.

“How about to Spring Break?” Veronica suggested.

“Lame,” Jughead announced. “How about—” He held out his shot glass. “To Betty.” He leaned over and placed a lingering kiss on her cheek. Though the toast was for her, he’d kept his eyes on Archie the entire time.

“I like that.” Veronica smiled. “To Betty.”

Archie finally stepped into the tub. “To Betty,” he said. His jaw muscle was working a mile a minute. After he’d downed his shot, he pulled Veronica into his side before sitting down.

“Thanks, guys.” Betty threw back her own shot. She wasn’t aiming to become sloppy drunk, but she had a feeling she would need liquid courage tonight.

They talked, all four of them, for a while. They played True or False—the drinking version—until the warm water started to slip against their skin like soap and their thoughts left their mouths as bubbles. Eventually, the conversation branched off into two different directions and both couples were left on either side.

“You look _incredibly_ handsome tonight. Did I tell you that already?” Veronica, in a show of grace and confidence that surprised even Archie, swung onto his lap. His hands came to rest on her ass of their own accord. “You look as handsome as I’ve ever seen you.” She leaned in and wrapped her lips around his earlobe.

Archie stared over her shoulder at Betts. Jughead was whispering something in her ear and she was nodding, slowly. Her eyes flickered up to meet Archie’s and that’s when he saw it. Jughead’s arm disappearing beneath the water in the direction of her...

White-hot, molten lead coursed through his veins. His inebriated brain wasn’t equipped to deal with this much jealousy. He’d begun savagely gripping Ronnie’s ass without meaning to and she moaned in his ear.

Betty wasn’t any happier than he was. She couldn’t see Veronica’s hips underneath the white foam, but she knew they were gyrating. Jughead had his hand inside of her swim bottoms and was applying pressure skillfully. Even if he wasn’t who she wanted, he still knew how to bring her off without much effort.

They kept eye contact and Archie felt himself grow hard beneath Veronica—a mixture of fury and exasperation fueling his need to cum.

Ronnie leaned back, her eyes wide. “Archie.”

He didn’t know what to say.

Veronica swung off of him as easily as she had swung on. “We’re going to bed. See you both in the morning,” she said, dragging him up by the hand.

Jughead pulled his hand discreetly out of Betty’s swim bottoms and stood up. “We’ll be going to bed, too.” His gaze was too direct—too _insistent_ —for Archie not to know what he was planning.

“See you tomorrow, Betty.” Archie didn’t know why he’d singled her out. Veronica was already pulling him away. He just wanted to look her in the eye one last time. Perhaps, to express his displeasure. Perhaps, to wordlessly plead with her.

Betty stood as well. The glorious image of her body, soaking wet and dripping suds, would be with him always, he knew.

“Night, Arch. Goodnight, V.”

.+.

They could hear each other fucking through the walls.

Archie wasn’t sure if he should try to tune them out. Betty’s infrequent moans were the only thing keeping him hard. Further, Jughead’s senseless grunting drove his hips to absolutely batter Veronica’s pussy.

“ _Archie_!” she screamed beneath him.

Betty heard V’s exclamation and nearly sobbed. She knew exactly what he was doing to her.

Spite had driven her to entertain Jughead’s advances and now here she was. Lying underneath him in their queen-sized bed as he rutted into her leisurely. Nonchalantly. As though there would be a million-and-one more times to make love to her. Meanwhile, she made a silent vow to herself. This would be the last time.

Never again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, I explained why the first part of the title is "We Are All Hypocrites." This chapter, I'd like to explain why the second part of the title is "With Fists of Ice." This fic will not include fisting, unfortunately. No. Rather, my favorite scene from Riverdale is from season one, when Archie saves Cheryl from drowning/suicide by legit beating up a frozen lake. With his fists. Fists of ice. Get it? 
> 
> Appreciated the comments on chapter one. Comments are, without a doubt, the main reason I post. I'm shameless like that. My chapters are around 5,000 words each and they do take a considerable amount of time. So, if you've enjoyed one, please do take a moment to drop me a comment and let me know. 
> 
> If you want to connect with me or talk about Barchie, I'm @newasskid on Tumblr.


	3. Her Unlived Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Midnight rendezvous. Morning merging. Mimosas, dreams, and other things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are crazy amazing. Thank you for the support - it's been more than I ever dared imagine. I'm committed to telling the best story I can and I hope you enjoy to ride. Without further ado, Chapter Three!

**Chapter Three:**

**Her Unlived Life**

The middle of the night came to rest upon her chest like a stack of stones. Betty kept her eyes open, peering into the dark. The last thing she wanted was to return to her dream.

The beside clock read 3:37 a.m.

How had she ended up _here_? With Jughead’s shallow breath ghosting across the skin of her cheek? With his arm draped over her midsection, imprisoning her? Nothing had turned out as she’d expected and the weight of her unlived life threatened to overwhelm her.

Kicking off the sheets, Betty began the arduous process of extricating her limbs from Jughead’s.

“ _What_ —what’s goin’ on?” The boy half-groaned into his pillow.

“Nothing. I’m just going to the kitchen.” Betty had thrown her calves over the edge of the bed, but Jug still had a grip on her arm. “Let me go, Jug.”

He let go of her quickly, as though he hadn’t realized he’d still been holding on.

“Can you bring back a glass of water?” He flipped over, away from her. “Thanks.”

.+.

When Betty awoke, Archie was still inside of her. She wasn’t sure how, he simply was. Sweltering mid-morning light poured through the uncovered window, directly onto the bed. Underneath the covers, everywhere they touched, her sweat-slick skin clung to his.

She was afraid to move. Afraid to wake him. Afraid to separate and thereby undo whichever temporary spell had brought them together. In her childhood bedroom, of all places. Her heart stilled when she felt him shifting behind her.

 _Are you awake?_ His voice, soft as satin, barely registered to her ear. He may as well not have been speaking at all.

She forewent responding in favor of sending her hips back onto his.

Archie exhaled an unsteady breath through his nose. When he breathed in again, the smell of green apples made him tighten his arms around her. _Good morning._ He pressed his lips to her skin.

She could feel him hardening inside her. _Good morning_ , she replied, in the same manner of barely speaking.

He removed his lips. _I missed you._

Betty caressed his forearm with her nails. She’d had them done for the wedding. French tips. Almond-shaped. Not too long. Back and forth. Back and forth, across his skin.

_When?_

_In my dreams_ , he murmured.

Betty gave a sudden cry. Archie’s fingers had clamped down on either of her nipples simultaneously. She hadn’t even felt him move. A flash of pain dispersed throughout her body as pleasure. He manipulated her pliant flesh; kneading and plying, pressing and molding. Absolutely fucking relentless. The pads of his fingers were calloused from strumming the steel strings on his guitar and he ran them gently around her areolas.

With the peaceful atmosphere already destroyed, Betty didn’t hold back her increasing moans. Her pussy clenched around him at about half the speed of her rapid heartrate.

How did he know exactly what to do? she wondered. _Scratch that._ She didn’t care to know the answer. In fact, the answer made her want to reach back and dig her French tips into his exposed side.

 _Don’t want this — to stop — ever._ Her words were nothing more than gasps and she worried he wouldn’t be able to understand her. Understand how much she needed this. Needed him. Damn, she could barely think.

 _This_ was freedom. An addicting brand which she’d never felt before and could only worry about losing now. How a person could feel helplessly bound to someone and yet liberated by the mere fact of their existence—Betty couldn’t hope to begin to explain. She only knew she was the person and Archie was the someone.

 _I’m not ever going to stop_ , he said, peppering kisses behind her ear. His words slithered out fast, unbroken. _You’ll always be mine._

What had the minister said the night before? She hadn’t been totally listening, but she remembered hearing something about an occupation. Well, Betty certainly felt _occupied_. Like Rome by the Gauls. Like Archie had snuck into her city under cover of night to set fire to her streets.

He began to move inside her.

 _Ah._ Betty couldn’t stand the heat anymore. Her hands scrambled at the damp sheets, tugging until she felt sunlight make direct contact with her bare skin. No longer restricted, her body writhed.

Archie palmed her thigh and brought her leg up to rest on top of his. He moved his hips purposefully, drawing out with a flourish and pushing back in to the hilt. In this moment—in every way—she was nothing but open to him.

 _I’m sorry I took so long._ As usual, he wasn’t even aware of the words coming out of his mouth. _I’m sorry._ He bit down softly on her shoulder. _I’m so—_

Betty pushed backwards with enough force to flatten him. Archie ended up on his back, with her on his chest, still inside her. She’d stolen the breath from his lungs.

 _Don’t apologize,_ she said, her hand coming up to cup his cheek. Her hips were still going. Absolutely fucking relentless.

Archie gripped her hips a bit harder than strictly needed until she’d stopped moving. Once Betty went completely still, he began thrusting in earnest. Her shouts and his groans and the wet slap of their skin meeting blended into a symphony—a symphony of sex—which reached its _crescendo_ when her orgasm triggered his. He held her to him. Both of his arms, like iron bars, beneath her breasts and across her stomach. 

_I love you._

In their befuddled post-sex haze, it was anyone’s guess who’d uttered those words.

.+.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Betty started. Her eyes scanned the darkened living room. “Arch?”

“I’m right here.”

Betty saw him then, lying on the couch, with his guitar propped on his chest. Part man, part shadow.

“Creeper,” she said, continuing onward to the kitchen. She flicked on a light.

“Sorry.” He set down his guitar and rose to join her.

Betty pulled down a glass from the cabinet. “I had a bad dream and Jug wanted water.” She went over to the sink. “What about you?”

Archie scrubbed a hand over his tired face and settled onto the counter behind her. “Ronnie sleeps with one of those sleep machines.”

“Oh, yeah.” Betty smirked as she turned on the faucet and water filled the cup. Memories of sleepovers at V’s drifted in and out of consciousness.

“ _Crickets._ ” “ _Crickets._ ” They both said.

Betty laughed and turned off the tap. “Poor Arch—” When she turned back around, he was right there. His body no less than an inch from hers. It was everything she could do to keep the glass from slipping, dropping, and shattering on the hardwood floor.

Archie settled his hand around the shaking glass. “Let go.” He placed the cup onto the counter behind her.

“What are you doing?” Betty couldn’t keep a note of accusation from marring her tone.

He was crowding her space. He was leaning his clenched fists onto the edge of the counter. He was… _Smelling her_ , she realized.

Betty stood stock still, waiting.

After a pregnant pause, Archie exhaled. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Once. Then, twice. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just—”

“Just what?” she demanded.

“Needed you,” he said. “I’m fine now.”

A pointed glance at his body—the proximity of which (combined with a lack of sleep) was making her delirious—did nothing to repel him. He had no plans to move away, nor to provide her with a modicum of space. This was, in fact, his preferred method of speaking to her.

“What was your dream about?”

“Wasn’t a dream,” she said. “It was a nightmare.”

He furrowed his brow. Knowing him, he was ready to fight whatever astral apparition had given her trouble.

“About what?” he pressed.

Betty couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. “I don’t want to tell you,” she said plainly, pushing at his chest.

He didn’t budge an inch. He was too solid. Too ready to handle whatever she threw at him. “About what, Betty.”

Placing an air-tight lid on her emotions, as she’d done one hundred thousand times before, she told him. “We had a son.” 

The color drained from Archie’s face. “What?”

“We had a son. His name was Walt.” She recited the details of her dream one by one, like a checklist, keeping her eyes on a distant point beyond Archie’s left ear. “He wasn’t old enough to walk, but his face… It was like an old man’s. He had bushy eyebrows and a bald head, except for a single patch right at the top. He was blonde, like me, and I remember being happy about that. He had your eyes, though.”

In her periphery, Betty could see Archie was collecting tears.

“ _Stop it._ You asked.” She was being harsh with him, but she didn’t have any other choice. “I can’t continue if you—”

“No. I’m sorry,” he said, blinking away the wetness. “Keep going.”

It was his apology that just about broke her. Betty swallowed. _Hard_.

“I remember holding him, in my arms.” She closed her eyes. “I couldn’t see you, but I could hear you and you were singing. One of your songs. I can’t remember which…” Betty hummed out an elemental tune.

“Give me a reason?” Archie supplied, upon hearing the melody of one of his oldest songs.

Betty nodded, a weak smile appearing on her lips. “He made these strange little noises, Arch. I swear, you’d have thought he was singing along. He was _ours_. He was _perfect_.”

Archie’s face was a mirror of her own. To have such a vision laid out before him, in her own words? He wanted to smile. He wanted to laugh! Only fear held him back. Betty wasn’t all there. She’d managed to shut down almost completely. He felt himself on the outside and could not see a way in.

“How is this a nightmare, Betts?” he whispered.

Betty opened her eyes. “That’ll never be us. Right? Isn’t that what you said?” she asked. “Never.”

When she placed her delicate hand on his chest this time, she didn’t have to muster an ounce of effort. Archie fell away like a stalk of wheat before the scythe.

She’d reached the edge of the light, when he called out to her. “Wait.”

“I’m going to bed. I’m tired.” Waves of exhaustion had begun to roll her. “Let me go. Please.” She wasn’t above begging.

“Don’t forget the water.” Archie held out the glass. Now his hand was the one to shake. “For Jug,” he bit out.

Betty returned, grasped the glass with both hands, then left.

“Goodnight,” Archie said, to the silent, empty kitchen.

.+.

Eight a.m. and Veronica was already toasting brioche in the oven. Jughead could smell the warming bread from the moment he’d opened his door.

“Good morning, Mister Jones.” Veronica approached him carrying a bottle of champagne. “Would you be so kind as to pop this lovely bottle out on the terrace? I don’t want the sound to wake Archie. He only just got to sleep a few hours ago.”

“Sure,” Jughead sighed. When he came back from the terrace, Veronica was squeezing oranges.

“For the mimosas,” she said, when she caught him staring.

“Right.” Jughead strained his neck until he heard a _crack_. “Are you always this chipper in the morning or did you have a particularly good night last night?”

“ _That_ ,” she paused, “is none of your business.”

“Certainly sounded like you were having a good time,” he said.

Veronica knew she wasn’t going to be the one to fold, even if she was slowly turning a rosy shade of pink. “You’re shameless.”

“And you’re loud,” he quipped.

She dropped her orange. “ _Jughead_.”

He laughed. “I’m teasing. You deserve to be happy, Veronica.”

“Thanks. Why aren’t you?”

“What? Happy?”

“Yes,” she said.

Jughead took his time answering. Veronica dried her hands on one of the kitchen towels, then used the towel to pull the buns from the oven.

“Sex doesn’t make or break Betty and I. No offense or anything. It’s just like… More of a bonus for us, you know?” Jughead’s skin felt prickly. He was sweating underneath his t-shirt. “Don’t get me wrong. It was nice.”

Veronica’s eyes were like two peach pits—dark, unyielding, and dripping the kind of sweetness liable to rot your teeth. “ _Nice_ ,” she said, mimicking him.

.+.

Betty and Archie woke up within fifteen minutes of one another. They each ambled into the kitchen, with sleep still blurring their features, to find Veronica’s immaculate breakfast spread laid out on the dining table.

“This looks amazing, V.” Betty plucked a strawberry from the platter and plopped it into her mouth. “Where’s Jughead?” she asked, around the bursting fruit.

“He’s gone snowboarding. Said he wanted an early start. He’s on the west slope, if you feel like joining him after breakfast.” Ronnie reached out to caress Archie’s arm. “Morning, babe.”

Archie finished swallowing a bite of bread, then leaned in to kiss her. “Morning.” When he pulled away, his gaze gravitated to Betty. She wasn’t looking. He couldn’t find even a trace of last night’s dream or their ensuing conversation anywhere on her face. Whereas, he’d been unable shake her words. The thought of Walt chased him in and out of sleep for hours. “I think I’ll follow Jug’s lead, actually. This looks great, though. I’ll have some when I come back.”

Veronica _hummed_. “Alright, then.”

Archie crammed one more bun into his mouth. “You both staying?” _You bof thay en?_

“Archibald,” Veronica scolded. Meanwhile, Betty hid her smile in a flute of mimosa. “Yes, I’m staying. Betty?”

“I’m not feeling like the slopes today.” She’d barely conjured up three hours of sleep altogether. Her, on skis, was asking for an accident.

Archie nodded. “I’ll see you in a few hours then.”

“Be safe,” Veronica said, to his retreating form.

“Be good,” he threw back.

“Always am.”

.+.

Day four came sooner than either of them expected. They’d been in the kitchen making dinner and the robust aroma of oregano permeated the house. Betty stirred a pot of tomato sauce and lowered the temperature on the noodles to prevent them from boiling over. Fred and Alice would be back tomorrow and she was acutely aware the fever dream of the last few days would have to die, only to be replaced with distance and hiding.

Archie came up behind her and slid his arms around her stomach. She leaned into him. At least they would be together.

There wasn’t a surface on which they had _not_ made love. They’d fucked in the kitchen. They’d fucked in her bed. They’d fucked in the shower. They’d fucked in the tub. Day two, Archie discovered a spot on Betty’s lower back he need only rub to have her coming undone. On the third day, she came until she cried. He’d carried her over the threshold as a joke, perhaps, but what they’d done within the confines of these walls was serious. A part of her felt—if not in an official sense, then in a personal one—this house was _theirs_.

They’d been ignoring calls and texts since the wedding night. Jughead called once and left a voicemail apologizing for his behavior. I _had too much to drink and… I guess I felt insecure—I don’t know. I don’t know what I was thinking._ Betty deleted the recording as soon as she was done listening. Meanwhile, Veronica had called and texted Archie too many times to count. The frequency only seemed to increase the longer she went unanswered.

Arch kissed her neck. His hands ran down her stomach, circled her navel, pulled at the strings of her joggers.

Betty smiled. “Be patient. Dinner’s almost ready.”

“I can’t,” Archie groaned. “I’m hungry now.” His deft fingers slipped underneath the waistband of her pants.

“ _Arch…_ ” she whined, bringing a hand up to brush his face. The heady, musky scent of his body circulated in the air around her.

He was intent—determined to drain her of every last drop of pleasure before their parents’ return—and already aroused enough to consider bending her over the sink. The only thing stopping him was the thought of overcooked noodles. To be honest, he would find a way to cope.

 _Ring. Ring._ His phone was vibrating in his back pocket.

“Answer,” she breathed.

He shook his head and his nose brushed the plane of her exquisite neck. “No. I don’t want to stop.”

Betty rocked on his hand. “Who said you have to stop?”

Archie’s hard-on was lethal at this point. He used his free hand to pull his phone from his back pocket and pressed ' _Accept'_ before he’d even checked the caller ID.

“Hello?”

Within three seconds, Betty knew something was wrong. Archie went still. Without warning, he ripped his hand from her pants.

“ _What_? Dad, how—?” Archie spun around, frantic. He was looking everywhere—his eyes scanning the walls and ceiling—like he was searching for something.

“What is it?” Betty switched off the stove top. “What’s happened?”

His eyes finally came to rest upon a single point. There. High up, where the walls met, above the refrigerator. A small, black dot. Archie narrowed his eyes. A camera.

“ _Dad_.”

Betty saw the camera in the next instant, but her mind wasn’t fast enough to catch up to what her body seemed to already know. Her insides were in tumult. As though someone were using her intestines to tie intricate knots.

“Yes, sir… Yes, sir,” Archie recited grimly. After a moment, he lowered the phone from his ear.

“Arch, what’s going—”

The phone went sailing out of his hands. It cracked against the wall, leaving behind an indent. The wild action was swift; much too violent for someone like him. Betty went to wrap her arms around him—hoping her body might contain whatever raged inside—but he shook her off.

“We can’t, Betty.” His breathing was ragged. His body stiff and on edge. Betty had never seen him panic like this. “We can’t now.”

“What did he say?’ she asked softly. This was how her therapist sometimes spoke to her. Calm, even-toned, objective.

Archie squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m such an idiot!”

“You’re not, Arch.”

“I am!” he insisted. “After everything with the Black Hood, he had cameras installed in our house. They connect to an app on his phone. They were so he could monitor the house while he was at work and I was at school. I didn’t think he’d… I didn’t see him— _fuck_!”

That night, they slept in separate beds for the first time since the night of the wedding. An unbearably heavy sense of foreboding weighed on Betty’s limbs, anchoring her in place. As much as she wanted to crawl out of bed, tiptoe into Archie’s room, and tell him everything was going to be alright, she couldn’t.

The sound of Fred’s car pulling into the driveway sent shards of ice shooting through Betty’s blood. She sat beside Archie on the couch, her palms sweating furiously, and braced herself for the upcoming whirlwind. For Alice. For the questions and the accusations and the ultimatums.

“We’re home! Oh, there you two are.” Alice emerged in the living room with a tired smile on her face. Something wasn’t right. She was… _happy_.

“Hey, Mom.” Betty glanced over at Archie, but with his head hanging low, she was unable to catch his eye. “How was the Bahamas?”

Alice set down her purse. “Oh, Betty. It was wonderful. I wish we could’ve taken you both with us. Maybe next time? The flight, however—don’t get me started. This woman behind us had the audacity to bring her seven-month old infant onto the plane. Can you believe that? The only reason I know that baby is seven months is because its mother kept announcing it to us every ten minutes. _So sorry, guys. She’s seven months_. As though that somehow rationalized her poor decision.”

As Alice vented, Fred appeared with their bags in tow. He said nothing. He didn’t even look at his son. Betty felt Archie tense beside her, as though he’d been physically struck.

“Do you guys want pizza for dinner? There’s no way I’m cooking!” Alice yelled, climbing the stairs.

Silence.

Fred set down the bags. “Betty, go upstairs please.”

She’d never heard him sound so severe. “Mr. Andrews, I—”

“Betty, go upstairs please. I need to speak to my son.”

When she rose from the couch, she felt unsteady on her feet. She wanted to say something, but… What was there to be said?

.+.

Betty listened at the door to her room, but no yelling ever made its way to her ear. She waited until one a.m. She waited until she was sure Fred and Alice were sleeping. She waited until she couldn’t bear to wait any longer, before creeping her way down the hall and into Archie’s room.

He had his back to her. All the lights were off.

“Does he have cameras in the hallway?” she asked. _Is that why you didn’t come see me once he was finished with you?_

“No,” he said. “I checked.”

Betty didn’t know why she hadn’t ventured beyond the brief stretch of carpet in front of his door yet. “What did he say?”

There was a _rustle_. He must’ve been sitting up. She could just make out his form, a darker shadow amongst shadows.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

A pause of indeterminable length followed. It might’ve lasted the span of a blink. It might’ve lasted a few minutes. The seedling of dread which had taken up residence in her heart last night blossomed into a bouquet of deadly flowers. Betty found herself wishing the pause would go on forever. She would’ve given anything— _anything_ —for him not to break the silence.

“Please don’t do this.” Her voice was weak. A frail imitation of itself. Brittle as bird bones. “Please, Arch.”

“ _Betty_ ,” he pleaded. “We can’t. This was a mistake.”

A wooden stake, more like. Right through the center of her chest. “Don’t say that.”

“My dad is finally happy with your mom. He’s loved her longer than either of us have been alive. It’s not fair. We can’t be selfish, Betty. And what about Jughead and Veronica? We betrayed them. _Our friends._ ”

“We can explain,” she said. Her words grew stronger. “We _love_ each other—”

She’d been prepared to argue: _What about us? What about what’s fair to us?_ Their parents had had their chance. Once, a long time ago. And, instead of choosing one another, they’d chosen to live _half-lives._ To live beside each other, instead of together. To be with partners who’d either abandoned them or traumatized them beyond repair. Why—after thirty years of wrong turns and bad decisions—did their love take precedence over the only love Betty had ever known?

That’s what she would’ve said, had Archie not cut her off with:

“We’re practically family now.”

The breath left her lungs. She had to bite her lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound. Swallowing, she replied, “Is that how you really feel?”

“Yes,” he said, without hesitation.

“What about… When you weren’t ever going to stop? What about I’ll always be yours? Was that all a lie, Arch?”

“No,” he said, just as quickly. “No, I meant those things. Those things are still true. I’m not ever going to stop loving you, Betty. You _will always_ be mine. It’s just that… We can never be together, Betts.”

It was everything she could do not to succumb to her wounds right then and there. Betty cast a shaky hand behind her until she felt the cool metal of the door knob. “I’m leaving,” she said.

“I’m sorry this is the way things are—”

“Don’t.” She’d done no more than exhale the word, but its edges were jagged enough to cut her throat on the way out. 

Betty slipped out of his room and back into the dark hallway.

*

They were drunk by noon. That’s what happens when an entire pitcher of mimosas is split between two girls. They’d moved out onto the terrace around nine. Veronica toting a plate of assorted cheeses and rolled meats, Betty hauling the aromatic glass pitcher of booze. Needless giggles had ensued. They fell over themselves laughing about a nameless, talentless celebrity who’d fucked themselves over on their own livestream. Veronica kept pulling up videos of baby animals and kids who’d met their idols and on and on, until they were both crying. 

“Oh!” Veronica sat up in her lounge chair. “Have you seen this?”

Betty wiped at her eyes. “This what?”

“This storm.” She flipped her phone around to show Betty one of those topographical maps with the multi-colored weather system. “It looks like it’s going to hit us tomorrow. Oh, Betty.” Veronica drew her mouth out into a serious line. “They’re saying it’s going to be bad.”

Betty laughed. “ _Of course_ there would be a major snowstorm right when we arrive. How many inches?”

“Fifteen.”

“God.”

Veronica was enraptured with the latest news updates about the storm. “They’ve even named it. I though they only did that with hurricanes.”

Betty bit down on a square of cheese. “What’re they calling it?”

Veronica _hummed_. “Walt.”

Betty started choking.

.+.

Ten minutes. The back of the box said to wait ten minutes. Betty had waited a lot longer than _that_. She’d waited until her lack of a period couldn’t be explained by any other natural reason. She’d waited until she could inconspicuously borrow her mother’s car to drive to Greendale and buy a pregnancy test at a run-down gas station. She’d waited until a rare afternoon when Archie left the house to be with Veronica _and_ her mother stayed late at The Riverdale Register _and_ Fred had his bi-monthly softball game.

When the timer she’d set on her phone went off, she didn’t rise to check. She’d waited all that time and still wasn’t ready to know concretely what she already knew deep down. Twenty minutes passed. Thirty minutes passed. Forty minutes passed. Her legs went numb from maintaining her position on the toilet. After an hour, she forced herself up. She hadn’t waited this long to be alone, only to have someone come home in the middle everything. 

The result was _positive_.

Betty left the bathroom, descended the stairs, and exited the house. She had no shoes on. Her bare feet walked along the rough asphalt and halted before her neighbor’s trash can. She lifted the lid and threw the test inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archie's POV to come.  
> p.s. I changed the number of chapters to 100 because: (1) I didn't want the fic to say 'completed' anymore, and (2) I don't know how exactly many chapters there will be. There will not, however, be one hundred chapters. Unless I only uploaded one-word chapters, in which case - I might be able to swing it ;)
> 
> Chapter 1
> 
> I
> 
> Chapter 2
> 
> Love
> 
> Chapter 3
> 
> You
> 
> Chapter 4
> 
> Guys!


	4. Merry Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heart-to-hearts. Diary entries. More secrets come to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience! Thank you for your support! Thank you for making me laugh! 
> 
> To interact on Twitter: @creativebuzz3  
> To interact on Tumblr: @newasskid
> 
> See end notes for info on continuation of this series...

**Chapter Four:**

**Merry Christmas**

Betty was gone. Her absence, to him, was akin to losing a limb. He could not _stand_ without her, nor could he look his father in the eye. Tension buzzed between them like static.

“Is there anything you’d like to say for yourself?” Fred asked.

Archie hadn’t cried in front of his father since he was boy. Since the Red Sox won the World Championship in 2007. He’d had his face practically glued to the television set when Jonathan Papelbon threw a 94 mile-an-hour fastball and gave the Colorado Rockies their final out. The rest of the team had swarmed the field, mobbing Papelbon, and Archie himself had been hauled up by the armpits. The next thing he knew, his father was lifting him into the air and hugging him. And, even though he wasn’t sad, tears had trailed down the sides of his face. His parents were together then and his mother’s laughter bubbling in the background saturated the memory with sweetness. Archie didn’t want to cry in front of his father now, but knew he would if he were to speak.

Fred sighed. “I got married last week.”

Archie cracked his knuckles—a nervous habit—and nodded.

“I got married to the love of my life, son. _That woman—_ ” Fred raised his arm to point up the stairs. “ _Is the love of my life._ And when we said ‘I do,’ she became your step-mother. Do you know what that means? Look at me.”

Archie raised his head. His father, just there on the other end of the glass coffee table, had never seemed so far away.

“Do you know what that means? It means _her daughter_ is _your step-sister_. That’s how that works, Arch. When I married her, we _all_ became family.”

He couldn’t maintain eye contact. He’d tried, but he couldn’t listen to his father say those things. “Dad,” he said, staring down at Alice’s Persian rug. “Betty and I have known each other since we were kids. We’ve liked each other since—”

“ _It doesn’t matter, son_. I’m not trying to be cruel. I know you and Betty have always been close, but I hoped your friendship would make for an easy transition to being family. I never imagined you would…”

Who knows what his father had seen through the cameras. Certainly, he’d seen the two of them in the kitchen. Perhaps, that was all. Archie hoped that was all.

“I’m disappointed, Arch. I really am.”

A sound should have been made. Like the _crunch_ of a beetle underfoot, or the hard _whoosh_ of air after a good punch to the stomach, or the _crack_ of a stone pillar underneath the weight of a thousand pounds—there should have been a sound when his father broke his heart. There was no stopping the tears. Archie scrubbed at his face because he was ashamed of the wetness; and, because he could not look his father in the eye when his own were filled with water.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice raw. “I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to let you down.”

“I know you didn’t, son. I know you didn’t. But…” Fred shook his head. “This cannot continue.”

His father waited, expecting a response, but Archie wasn’t ready to make that particular promise. “Why didn’t you tell Alice?” he asked instead.

“Because she won’t be able to move past this. Because she would be deeply disturbed. Hell, _I’m_ deeply disturbed, but the difference is: I know you and I trust you’ll do the right thing.”

Archie breathed out. “I don’t know if I can.”

His father came around the table, closing the gap, to sit down beside him. “Second chances don’t come often in this life,” he began. “Alice and I didn’t manage to settle down together all those years ago and, obviously, we weren’t meant to. I wouldn’t change the choice to be with your mother, as I’m sure Alice wouldn’t change her choice to be with Hal, because otherwise we wouldn’t have you two. I love you, son. More than you will ever know. And I’m asking you, right now, to put a stop to this. I’m asking you for the chance for us to be a family. The decision is yours. The ball is in your court. But know this… If you and Betty choose to pursue a relationship—it will not be in this house, under this roof.”

Archie’s brain felt like a fried egg. His father’s plea had flattened him. “Wait. What do you mean?”

“I think you understand what I mean.”

His father would disown him. Kick him out of the house at the tender age of seventeen. Send him to live with his mother in Chicago, presumably. Archie had never been denied his father’s love and the prospect seemed unendurably c _old_.

“What about Betty?” was his only question.

Silence.

“I can’t speak for Alice,” Fred said. “She might allow her to stay, but my guess is… The Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”

No way. No way was Betty going there. Archie knew how they’d treated Polly during her pregnancy and he wouldn’t sit back and have the same happen to Betty.

“Alright, Dad. I’ll do it. I’ll break things off.”

“For good?” Fred asked.

“For good,” Archie repeated, rote as an automated machine.

His father took his hand and squeezed. “Thank you, son. I know this is hard and I’m sorry this is the way things are.”

 _I’m sorry this is the way things are_. He’d tried to use the same line later, with Betty, but the words coming out of his mouth were altogether different than when they’d come out of his father’s. Flat and stilted—they were almost offensive in their _unfeelingness_. He couldn’t say how he truly felt or else she’d never have accepted parting. If he’d told her what his father said, she’d have convinced him to try and love each other in secret. Or she’d have rallied and suggested running away. And if he told her how hollow he felt at the prospect of living apart from his father, she’d have climbed into bed with him. Around and around they would’ve went, never going anywhere.

As far as Archie could see, there were two options. Option one. Continue his illicit affair with his now step-sister, of all people, and lose his father’s respect. His home. His friends. Betty. He’d either be forced apart from her—eight hundred miles put between them for their trouble—or she would be institutionalized. Neither of which were viable. Option two. He could give her up. The two of them could return to their friendship—the comfortable camaraderie they’d shared until five days prior—though it would never be quite the same. They could return to their relationships—with two people whom they did genuinely love—though those would never be quite the same either.

After she’d left his room, he laid in his bed staring up into nothing. Strangely enough, he thought of something he’d heard Dumbledore say in one of those Harry Potter movies Jughead forced him to watch when they were twelve. Something about choosing between what’s _easy_ and what’s _right_.

Well, despite the optics, option two was the harder avenue to take. Pretending not to be in love with Betty Cooper? Near impossible.

This is how he knew option two was the right one.

.+.

The western slope provided a bird’s eye view of the sprawling valley. Vast woodlands, wild and untamed, were cut through by the Ottaquechee River. The rushing waters of which created a white surface Archie could make out even from his elevation of four-thousand feet.

“Race you to the bottom?” Jughead called from where he stood several feet away on his snowboard.

Archie plugged his poles into the hard snow and leaned his weight on them. “Give me a sec.” They’d been going all morning.

“I thought you were supposed to be an athlete,” Jughead joked.

“I am.” Archie straighten, smiling. “That’s why I’ve beaten you every time.”

Jughead plopped onto the ground. “That’s only because these are too tight.” Adjusting the straps on his feet, he asked: “What do you imagine the girls are doing right now?”

Archie thought that was a weird question. “Knowing V, she’s probably convinced Betty to go to the lodge for a spa treatment or something.”

Jughead chuckled. “That or they’ve finished off the mimosas and are having a _heart to heart_.”

Archie laughed but something felt off.

“Help me up?” Jughead asked, holding out his hand.

Archie hauled him onto his feet.

“Thanks, man. And, _uh—_ ” Jughead cleared his throat. “Also, _thank you._ ” He hadn’t let go of Archie’s hand yet.

“For what?”

“For saving her,” he said. “I never thanked you, after you told me, but I’ve wanted to. You. Betty. Hell, even Veronica. You guys are all I have, you know?”

“What about the Serpents?”

The other boy averted his gaze, his brow lowering over his eyes. “The Serpents expect things from me. Loyalty, obviously. Cruelty. _Obviously._ I can’t show weakness. I can’t be who I am—I have to be who they need me to be. You guys are the only ones who know what I’m really like and still… Love me. I guess.”

Archie was used to being all torn up on the inside and not letting it show on his face. He gripped Jug’s hand tighter. “We do love you,” he said. “Don’t thank me for saving Betty. That makes it seem like I did something heroic. It wasn’t like that. It was horrible. Worst moment of my life and every single thing I did was textbook _wrong_.”

A black light had been lit in Jughead’s eyes. “What was it like? Seeing her like that?”

Archie shook his head. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Come on. She’s my girlfriend.”

“Then you should ask her.”

They faced off for a moment, locked in a miniscule battle of wills. Archie only knew he wouldn’t budge.

“Fine. I will,” Jughead said, releasing his hand.

Archie rubbed the back of his neck to make use of his free appendage. “Do you want to try and give me a bit more of a challenge this time?”

Jughead side-eyed him, a small smirk creeping onto his face. “Do you want to give me a five-second head start?”

Archie laughed. “Alright.”

.+.

_Dear Journal, November 25 th_

_It’s strange how two green lines can change your life. Aren’t they meant to be blue? I’d always thought they were meant to be blue. I’m caught on all the little details now. I can’t help myself. My hair, my skin, my breasts, my nails. I’m constantly checking for subtle differences. I’ve undergone a fundamental change, haven’t I? He doesn’t speak to me. The smell of him has long since gone from my sheets and it’s been two weeks since we last spoke. When he said, “I’m sorry this is the way things are—.” We pass each other in the hall and our eyes don’t meet. He takes the seat farthest away from me in our booth at Pop’s. How could thirteen years of friendship collapse in a matter of moments? I’ve tried to make myself be alright with this. He made his choice. Again. I’ve been turned away. Again. I’d survived the first time, hadn’t I? Except, I hadn’t been pregnant then. We hadn’t slept together, then. We hadn’t made promises… I lay in bed thinking about the things he said. Whether they were just words to him? I don’t want to tell him. I don’t want to tell anyone. My mother is going to strangle me to death with her bare hands._

_Dear Journal, December 10 th _

_Still no signs. Sometimes, I even forget._

_Arch has been spending all of his time with Veronica. He’s almost never home. He came into the kitchen the other day, while I was studying, and turned right back around. He’s hurting me and he knows he is. Does even care?_

_It’s almost like we never happened._

_Dear Journal, December 17 th,_

_I spoke to Polly today. On the phone. I asked her if she’d ever considered aborting the twins._

_“Betty.”_

_I told her I wasn’t trying to offend her. “Please, Polly. Just tell me the honest-to-God truth.”_

_She went quiet on the line. Then said, “I thought about it.”_

_“Why didn’t you?” I asked._

_“Because. Jason talked me out of it.” Her voice mellowed out, the way it always did when she talked about the twins’ father. “He said not to worry. Screw everyone else.” She laughed. “We would take care of each other. We’d be a family. A better one than either of us ever had.”_

_“Thanks, Pol.”_

_Dear Journal, December 24 th_

_I’ve vomited three mornings in a row. I looked up what to expect at six weeks and morning sickness is normal. My baby is the size of a sweet pea now. It has a little tail and everything. How weird. In addition to a tail, it has a heartbeat. Everything has become a bit too real. In my dreams, I see little hands and feet—a veritable collage of baby things and child features—and I wake up sweating. Archie is in Chicago now, visiting his mother for Christmas. He’ll be back the day after tomorrow. I’ll tell him then. I can’t do this by myself anymore. I’ll tell him this doesn’t mean we have to be together. I’ll tell him I don’t expect anything from him… and that’ll be a lie. I expect him act like my best friend again. Say, ‘We’re in this together. You’re not alone, Betts. Whatever you want to do, we’ll figure out a way. Anything that needs to be handled—we’ll handle. Somehow. Don’t worry.’_

_When I give him his gift, then I’ll tell him. ‘Baby, Don’t Cry’ by Matthew Walters, on vinyl. We used to listen to track eleven on repeat in Fred’s garage when we were six. I hope he remembers._

_Dear Journal, December 26 th_

_Nevermind. There’s nothing to tell._

.+.

“Babe, are you alright?”

Betty worked furiously to unlodge the piece of cheese stuck in her throat. When she finally succeeded in clearing her airway, she sucked in a ragged breath. Then immediately began to cry.

“Oh, no. Betty? _Dios mio_!” Veronica shouted, leaping up from her lounge chair. She wrapped her slender arms around her friend’s shivering frame. “What’s happened?”

“I… don’t… know.” Betty could barely force the words to leave her throat. She had no idea what her body was doing. “I’ll be fine. I _am_ fine.”

Veronica scoffed. “Here. Have some of this.” She raised a glass of water to Betty’s lips and waited for her to take a sip. “Now… Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Betty turned her face away to cough. “Nothing,” she said.

“Then why are you still crying?”

Her tears had not subsided. Not in the least. Two constant streams cascaded down the rounded slopes of Betty’s cheeks, off of her quivering chin, and onto the hands clasped in her lap. “You can’t tell anyone.”

Veronica’s body went on high-alert. “ _Okay._ ”

“Promise, V.”

“I promise I will not breathe a word of what you tell me to anyone. Now will you stop scaring me, please? Just tell me.”

Betty brushed a hand underneath her chin and inhaled. The alcohol in her stomach had turned to acid and was burning her. She worried, if she tried to speak, everything would come rushing out.

“I—had a miscarriage.”

Veronica brought her hands up to cover the lower half of her face. Her eyes had blown wide. Her head shook back and forth, slowly. “Betty…” Lowering her hands, she asked, “When?”

“Last year. Around Christmastime.”

“How—?” Veronica scolded herself for stuttering, but her mouth was moving faster than her brain. “How far along were you?”

No more than fifteen feet from the terrace, Betty could see a family of swallows. They circled their nest—a small basket cupped by the tree base and a low branch— _diving_ and _swooping_ and _dancing_ with one another. She focused on the birds, on their liveliness, and tried to forget the smell of blood.

“Six weeks,” she answered.

“Is this why you—?”

No one could ever just say it. No one dared. As though putting words to the act might tempt her to try again.

“Yes.” Betty sniffled. “And _no_. I was relieved, I was. At first. But, the more time went by, the more I felt like… Like I’d done something wrong. Like _I_ was wrong.”

The truth was a live wire, threaded throughout her veins, lighting her up. She’d never felt this vulnerable and exposed.

“No, no, no.” Veronica hugged her friend tightly. “No, Betty. That’s not true.”

The two girls embraced on the white lounger for several minutes. A bitingly cold wind whipped in from the west, negating any warmth from the beaming March sun. Veronica whispered sweet assurances into her ear. When she pulled away, she smoothed the remaining tears from Betty’s face.

“Does Jughead know?”

The question reminded Betty of how sinful she truly was. She kept her body soft and pliant, instead of tensing like she wanted to. “No.”

Veronica nodded, like she’d expected as much. “Do you think… I don’t know. Maybe you should tell him? You don’t have to carry this all by yourself.”

Jughead wasn’t the conscientious type. He wouldn’t take a calendar and cross-reference dates with times he could remember them having sex in November. He’d simply believe her version of events. No questions asked. Except, Veronica wasn’t really suggesting she tell Jughead. She was suggesting she tell the _father_. The person who’d played an equal role in creating the life which had been lost and, therefore, deserved an equal portion of the ensuing pain.

Betty couldn’t share this pain, though. Even if she’d wanted to. She was the sole passenger on a sinking ship. Whereas Archie had been smart enough to jump, Betty could not bring herself to abandon the vessel they’d built together—with their own hands—even as water flooded in through the cracks. She’d been ready to die, rather than let go.

“I can’t,” she said. “I won’t.”

.+.

He’d experienced pain before. When his parents split and he’d refused to come out of his room for weeks. When his Grandpa passed and he’d been unable to finish delivering his eulogy because of the sobs racking his body. When his father was shot. When he was held at gunpoint and forced to lie down in a coffin which might’ve become his grave. There were too many times to count and he’d endured each of them with a modicum of grace because he hadn’t been alone. Betty had always been there. Across the way, smiling back at him from her open window. Whispering _i_ _t’s okay_. Handing him a tissue. Racing to the hospital just to sit beside him in the waiting room. If there was one face he wanted staring down at him when his time came, it was hers. No doubt. Archie thought he’d been through the worst, until he found her in that bathroom. Until the possibility of her never being there again presented itself like a black hole he’d never be able to escape.

He wasn’t even supposed to be home. He’d left school in the middle of the day because he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She’d taken two sick days in a row, but didn’t appear to have any symptoms when he left that morning. He just wanted to make sure she’d eaten. She’d lost a significant amount of weight in a little under a month.

“Betts?” He’d knocked on her bedroom door. No answer. He cracked the door open and peeked inside. She wasn’t in her bed.

What right did he have to check on her? He’d barely spoken to her since the fallout of their… Well, whatever they’d had. If she’d lied about being sick and snuck out, then he couldn’t be upset. He wasn’t her confidante anymore. He couldn’t be.

Archie was checking his watch—gauging how much time he had left until next period—when he heard a soft groan. Backtracking down the hall, he stopped in front of the bathroom he and Betty shared. “Betty?”

There was another groan. He wasn’t sure if she was trying to say something, or…

“Are you okay?” Perhaps, she was sick. Perhaps, she was in there throwing up right then. Still, Archie couldn’t shake a terrible knowing that something wasn’t right. He jiggled the handle. Locked.

“ _Betts_. Open the door.”

He banged on the door several times with his fist. _Come on. Come on. Come on._ His own ferocity took him off guard.

“For God’s sake— _please, Betty!_ ” he begged.

Her unintelligible babbling barely made its way to him. Archie couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Putting a bit of space between himself and the door, he burst forward, ramming his shoulder into the thick piece of wood with all his might. It burst open and he stumbled into the bathroom. 

“Betty.” It was her, but it wasn’t. She was paler than ice. Her head lolled to one side. Her eyes, blood-shot and fully dilated, roved over his face, refusing to fix on any of his features. His eyes landed on a spot of pink, on the floor, beside the sink. He rushed over to her and knelt down. “What did you do? _Huh?_ Tell me what you did.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Did you take something, Betty?”

A line of spit leaked from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes kept falling closed.

“No, no, no, no, no. Betty, open your eyes. Open your eyes!”

Archie went on autopilot. Placing one hand on the back of her neck, he used the other to pry her mouth open. His fingers pushed forward until he felt her esophagus contract and heard her gag. He pulled them out and watched as she heaved her stomach’s contents onto herself. They continued this exchange into the toilet until there was nothing left.

Archie felt like he’d been the one to take a fistful of pills. He could barely hold himself up, as well as her.

“ _Why,_ Betty?” He wept tears of blood for the girl who used to be his best friend. For the girl he’d asked to marry him once. For the girl, he knew then, was long gone.

He’d stripped her. Bathed her. Taken special care not to look as he dressed her in new clothes. Carried her across the lawn to his old house. Laid her down in his old bed. Listened to her breathe for hours. In and out. The shallow sound the only thing which kept him half-way sane. He’d successfully lied to their parents, collected her belongings, refused her advances, and—finally—gone to sleep with her in his arms.

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

The soft alarm he’d set on his phone woke him. It was three a.m.

Once again, Archie faced the dilemma of having to leave her. He knew she wasn’t likely to wake up and attempt something else, but… This was the best sleep he’d gotten in months. Unwinding his limbs from hers, he placed his feet squarely on the floor and stood up. He went to grab his phone and just there, lying beside, was her pink leather-bound journal. In less than an instant, he’d already had a crisis of faith and made his ultimate decision to invade her privacy.

Archie picked up her journal and went to stand by the window. Moonlight streamed onto the open pages. He flipped to her most recent entry. It was from the day before. January 31st.

_Nothing ever gets better. I can’t do this anymore. Maybe there is something wrong with me. Maybe there always has been. Mom, if you find this: I’m sorry. I wish I’d been stronger._

So she’d planned everything. Archie hurriedly flipped to the previous entry. It was from last year. December 26th.

_Nevermind. There’s nothing to tell._

Why had she stopped writing? Nothing to tell? Archie’s brow had furrowed with confusion. He was eager to know more, but heard Betty shifting behind him. Closing the journal, he waited until she went still before placing it back on the nightstand.

He shouldn’t have read her diary. He’d only been left with more questions.

.+.

The boys came back around two to find the girls were gone.

“You called it.” Jughead handed Archie a note he’d found on the counter.

Veronica’s cursive handwriting spelled out:

_Gone for a bit of TLC_

_at the lodge. Be back in a bit!_

_V_

The girls didn’t return until close to five, by which time the boys had eaten lunch and taken naps. Veronica shared her plans with them while she was preparing dinner.

“We should go out tonight. The snowstorm hits tomorrow, guys. This may be our last chance while we’re here.” 

“Oh,” Jughead said, reaching over the counter for a piece of bell pepper. “Are you two lovely ladies finally ready to hit the slopes?”

Veronica smacked his hand away. “No ruining your appetite.”

“My appetite cannot be ruined. My appetite is scientifically _unruinable_.”

“He’s not lying,” Archie said, sidled behind Veronica’s back and successfully sneaking a bell pepper. Betty smirked as she cracked peas into a bowl. Archie winked at her.

“Both of you—leave this kitchen _right now_. We’ll call you when the food is ready.” Veronica went on mumbling underneath her breath about how there wouldn’t be any food left if they had their way.

Archie and Jughead sauntered out of the kitchen, laughing.

“They’re so annoying.”

Betty nodded.

.+.

She woke up Christmas morning with all of the usual excitement, but for none of the regular reasons. Tomorrow, Archie would return home and the secret she’d been harboring for six weeks would no longer be solely her own. No matter his reaction, she would finally be _free_.

Betty tried to perform her morning sickness as quietly as possible, but it’d been particularly bad that day. When she made her way down the stairs, at last, her mother’s request hadn’t helped to settle her stomach.

“I’m going to see your father today and I’d like you to come with me,” she said, after setting a plate of pancakes down in front of her.

“What? Why?” Betty asked. Her mother hadn’t been to see her father in prison since his birthday last September. 

Alice twisted her ring. _Oh._ Betty understood. She wanted him to know she’d remarried. Wanted to show him she’d moved on.

“I don’t think—”

“Please?” Her mother asked, before she could finish. “Please, Betty? It would mean a lot to me and… It’s Christmas.”

That’s how she’d found herself standing across from her father with only a plane of bulleted glass separating them. His arms were strapped to his body in a strait jacket. He had small cuts on his nose and jaw, like he’d been scratched, and his eyes sank deep into his skull, making them appear dark. In actuality, they were the same color as hers. Hal didn’t look like he could be the editor of The Riverdale Register. He didn’t look like he could be her father. He didn’t look like he should be alive.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hi, honey.” He sounded exactly the same.

“How are you, Hal?” Alice asked, her icy tone and crossed arms belying her true intentions.

“Good, Al. Much better. No one nags me here. I don’t have to clean up after myself. The drugs are nice, too.”

“I’m so happy you’re thriving. You look well.” Alice brought her hand up to tuck her hair behind her ear, flashing her ring.

Betty watched her father’s eyes alight upon the reason they were here in the first place. She knew immediately they shouldn’t have come.

“What’s this? Did you finally tie the knot with old Frank?”

“Fred, Hal. You know that.”

“I DON’T KNOW SHIT!” His voice exploded from his mouth as if he’d spoken through a megaphone. Betty jumped, her body went rigid, and she felt a small pain unfurl in her belly. Just as fast, he’d returned to normal. “Fred. Frank. Fucking Felix, for all I know. Or care. Should I just call him the boy who’s been eager for my sloppy seconds since senior year? Whatever you’d like, Alice.”

“You’re ridiculous, Hal.”

The pain hadn’t subsided. In fact, Betty’s discomfort had only grown. “Mom.” She gripped her mother’s arm. “Can we go? _Now_ , please.”

“Sure, Betty. Just one second.” Her mother slipped out of her grasp and marched up to the glass. “You’re pathetic, Hal. Fred is a better father than you ever were and one day we’ll be able to forget you were ever a part of our family.”

Her father started laughing. He laughed and laughed and laughed until a yellow stain seeped down the inside of his white pants’ leg. Her mother made a disgusted sound.

“Come on, Betty. Let’s go.”

“Merry Christmas, Betty! You’re still my daughter!” He yelled after them as they fled down the dark hall.

When they emerged from the prison, back into the bright sunlight, Betty glanced down at herself.

“Oh my goodness!” Her mother stepped away to see her better. “You’ve got your period, Betty.”

Betty couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even nod. Her mother rummaged through the trunk and found a beach towel for her to sit on during the drive home.

.+.

A railway wrapping around the base of the mountain could ferry guests from the lodge to any of the slopes. Archie and Jughead rode with the gear in one cart, while the girls rode in the other. The sky was purple, post-sunset, burning orange to the west and blackened blue to the east. They’d eaten dinner together in the cabin. Archie noticed Betty was unusually quiet, but didn’t press her. If she didn’t want to talk about her dream, he wouldn’t force the issue.

It was only a dream, after all.

When they reached the lifts on the northern slope, he helped Veronica with putting on her skis, then caught the lift with her after agreeing with Jughead to jump at the Blue Square. He glanced behind once more, just to make sure Betty and Jughead were on and safe.

“How was your day with Betty?” he asked, settling in as the lift rose higher.

Veronica hesitated. “Good. We had facials and massages. You know how I love a good massage,” she quipped, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Archie laughed. “I do.” But he hadn’t forgotten her hesitation. “Did anything happen?”

Veronica shook her head, but she wouldn’t meet his eye.

“Ron. What is it?” He couldn’t lean forward to catch her eye without rocking the carriage. “Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she stressed, visibly uncomfortable. “I told Betty I wouldn’t say anything.”

Now that Archie knew the secret was about Betty, he couldn’t help himself. “I think you should tell me.”

“I want to, Archiekins.” Veronica sighed. “I want to.”

Time was running out. They’d be to the Blue Square soon. “Is it something that’s affecting her mental state?” he asked.

Veronica paused, contemplating. Then said, “Yes.” 

“Well, then you have to tell me.”

“ _Archie—_ ”

“No, Ronnie. I’m serious. We’re the only ones who know what Betty did. What she’s gone through. We can’t keep secrets from each other or else we won’t know when she needs our help.” Archie wasn’t sure if his motivations were pure, but he was doing a good job of convincing himself they were.

Veronica stared into him and he worried she would read his solicitation for what it was— _desperation_.

“She can’t know I told you,” she said eventually.

Betty watched Archie and Veronica discuss something fervently from where she sat in her own carriage. Jughead had enticed her into a half-hearted debate on who was better—Octavia E. Butler or Ursula K. Le Guin? She felt like they’d had this conversation before. They probably had, but that was good, because it meant she didn’t have to think of new things to say. Her mouth moved of its own accord while her eyes took in the scene in front of her.

“Hey, you ready?” Jughead patted her thigh. “We’re almost to the Blue Square. Do you want to hold my hand?”

Betty hadn’t heard him, because just then Archie had turned around to look at her and she’d seen in his eyes he knew. Veronica reclaimed his attention almost immediately, but altogether too late.

She’d told him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I hope you enjoyed Chapter Four. This fic sometimes feels like a full-time job, but when I'm not writing, all I want to do is *be writing*. I don't know that I have 96 more chapters in me, but I may have two or three. This fic is now 60 pages and I'm thinking I can make it to... 80? 90? Maybe even, dare I say, 100? 
> 
> This chapter, while hopefully entertaining in its own right, was lead up for Chapter Five - which was the original end point in my mind for this series. Don't worry. Chapter Five is no longer the end goal, but that said, a lot will pop off in ch5. Walt officially hits Maple Valley Resort and shit officially hits the fan. I'll need a bit of time to pull everything together, but I'll work as fast as I can. 
> 
> Thank you so much for the incredible kindness you've all shown. So proud to be a part of this fandom. See you soon! xo


	5. Walt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things pop off on the slope. Tea and therapy. You get a secret. You get a secret. Everyone gets a secret!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never written this hard in my life. Feels good. Almost makes up for the fact that I _rarely_ exercise. I hope this chapter serves. I know you've all been waiting to eat. Therefore, without further ado, bone apple tea.

Chapter Four:

Walt

“Why _are_ you here?” Dr. Rollins asked. The deep timbre of her voice broke through the constant barrage of rain beating against the windowpane.

Betty, curled up with her legs on the couch, stared out at the ongoing storm. The world was awash—a slate-grey canvas with wavering blobs of green standing in for trees—and she felt no different. Chaotic and hazy. Indistinct. Unpredictable, even to herself. Why was she there? She hadn’t the faintest idea anymore.

 _Didn’t you see a therapist after everything happened with your dad?_ Archie’s voice cut against the grain of her thoughts. It’d been Sunday night. Two days after he found her in the bathroom. They were lying in his old bed and his arms were a comfortable ring wrapped around her middle.

“Would you be willing to meet with her again? To talk?”

Betty hadn’t seen Dr. Amanda Rollins since her father went to prison. She was different from a regular therapist; whom Betty had seen from ages ten to fourteen for anxiety. She was a trauma counselor, specialized in treating young adults. Alice heard about her on The View.

“I don’t want to.” Her reply had been as lazy as it was unfair. However, the truth was the truth. She was exhausted down to her bones. She could barely muster the will to speak. 

“You need to talk to someone. I—I don’t know how to help you, Betts. You won’t tell me anything.” Though he’d tried to keep his voice level, quiet desperation leaked into Archie’s tone. He squeezed her a bit, because he needed to feel she was truly there, and to keep from shouting: _Wake up! Were you really going to leave? Please don’t. You’re my best friend._ He couldn’t be the one to help her for this exact reason. His interests were too singular. He only wanted to keep her there. Even if they couldn’t be together, he wouldn’t be able to live if something happened to her. “And you don’t have to, okay? But you’ve got to tell someone how you feel, Betty. You’ve gotta let someone help you.”

Betty sighed through her nose. The instinct which had always prevailed—since they were six years old and he’d been about to fail the first grade—prevailed once more. She would always help her friend; even if it meant helping herself.

“Fine. I’ll go. But only if…” She’d been too afraid to say what she wanted at first. Then, the prospect of sleeping alone occurred to her and fear propelled the words out of her mouth. “If we can sleep in my bed sometimes.”

“Betty.”

“That’s all I want, Arch.” A rouge tear had slipped from the corner of her eye, onto the pillowcase below. “Just for us to be like we are now. I can’t handle things going back to the way they were. Us, not speaking. Pretending like we never happened.”

“The whole not speaking thing—we’re never doing that again.” After a moment, he’d said, “If you’ll go see her, I’ll find a way for us to sleep in the same bed. Sometimes.”

A few days later, here she was.

“I lost something,” Betty said, not taking her eyes away from the storm. “Something I wanted very much.”

This was the most she’d said in over thirty minutes. The session was nearly half over. She had the urge to dig her nails into her palms, even though she hadn’t done so in a long time. She resisted.

“What was it that you lost?” Dr. Rollins asked. That voice of _hers_. It soothed Betty and made her itch all at once. It was a voice that could wheedle its way into someone without raising any alarms.

“I lost—”

A flash of white light preceded a jarring crack of thunder. They sat in silence, waiting for the deafening sound to fade.

“—a future,” Betty finished. “A life I might’ve lived, but never will now.”

The look which flooded Dr. Rollins’ gaze wasn’t one of curiosity, or even pity, as she might’ve expected. It was _empathy_. It was the gaze of someone who understood, without details or particulars, what losing a future felt like. How the loss left one hollowed out; a tree struck by lightning.

.+.

“Betty’s had a miscarriage.” Once the words left Veronica’s lips, there was no way to pull them back. The initial shock marred Archie’s face—melting his features like acid—and she wondered if her own had looked the same when he’d told her about Betty’s suicide attempt.

Without warning, his solid body twisted, causing the lift to rock.

“What are you doing?!” she whisper-shouted, tugging on his arm. “Don’t _look_. She’ll know.”

“When?” Archie whipped back around. The emotions passing over his countenance like multicolored shades were indistinguishable. For once, Veronica couldn’t read him.

“Last year. I don’t know exactly. She said—around Christmastime?” Veronica’s stomach had plummeted the fifteen foot drop to the ground. “Archie, you can’t say anything—”

“You guys planning on jumping anytime soon?!” Jughead yelled across the empty air.

“Archie, _please._ ” Veronica wasn’t one to beg, but she knew the consequences would be dire if she didn’t. “You can’t tell Jug—”

He was gone. A flash of denim and fleece. Suddenly, Veronica found herself exposed to the wind.

Betty watched Archie as he dropped. His black skis hit the packed snow with a blunt _smack_. Circling around, he lifted his gaze upwards, locking eyes with her in the process.

“That’s our cue,” Jughead said, pulling the goggles resting on his forehead down over his eyes. He held out his hand. “Come on.”

Together they slipped from the lift. Air, like grasping fingers, pulled tendrils from her neat ponytail. Upon landing, Betty dropped Jug’s hand and—turning her back on Archie, where he stood staring several feet away—went to fix her hair.

“Let me help you.”

A glance to the left revealed Veronica—in her black velvet puffy jacket and white mittens—with her hand outstretched.

Betty jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

Veronica’s mouth popped open in surprise. She hadn’t genuinely expected Betty to know, from a simple look, what she’d done. “Betty—?”

Meanwhile, Jughead had gone still. His eyes, hidden behind the tinted polycarbonate of his goggles, bounced between the two girls. 

Betty finished tying her ponytail, then angled herself to face the raven-haired girl. “Don’t talk to me either.”

“Betty, I—” Veronica sounded like something was caught in her throat.

“You promised.”

“Yes, but—” She sent a furtive glance at Jughead, unsure sure how much to say. “Can we not talk about this? _Later?_ ”

Betty moved to pass her. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Veronica scoffed—a small, derisive exhale—then muttered to herself: “You’re such a hypocrite.” 

Betty paused midstride. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“You know I didn’t tell him to hurt you. It’s just—! You’ve put us— _all of us_ —in an impossible position and you give us no leeway to mess up. You keep these massive secrets, Betty, and expect us to do the same. We’re not like you.” Veronica’s tone was identical to the one she’d used when she’d said: _It’s not my fault he doesn’t like you._ “Do you know how torn up Archie was over telling us you tried to kill yourself? Do you think he wanted to do that? No. He had no choice. And yet, you forgave him. So why are you acting like this with me?”

“Archie didn’t _look me in my eyes_ , V, and make me a promise only to break said promise six hours later!” Betty put her face close to Veronica’s. “And I’m the hypocrite?” she whispered. “Really? Because I trusted you? Well, then… If I’m a hypocrite, you’re a two-faced lying _bitch._ ” 

Snow—light, wispy flakes of white—had begun to fall.

“What is going on?” Jughead asked.

Archie came up behind them. “Don’t be mad at Veronica,” he said. “Be mad at me. I’m the one who made her tell me. I’m the one you didn’t want to know. Right?”

Betty tore her gaze away from Veronica’s to look at Archie. She hadn’t prepared for this moment. She hadn’t prepared for the hurt—plain obvious—in his eyes. Every secret she’d held close was gone now. Or, if not gone, then leaving. Like the last of the daylight—milky-blue—fading behind the mountain, soon to be overwhelmed by the night.

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell we’re talking about?” Jughead yanked the goggles from his eyes, tearing his beanie off in the process. His knit-hat sank to the ground.

“Wait…” Veronica placed her hands on her hips and scrunched her eyebrows. “Why would you be the one she didn’t want to know?

Archie didn’t take his eyes off of Betty. “It was mine, wasn’t it?”

In the relative silence which followed, only the muted sprinkle of snow reaching the ground and the distant scrape of skis could be heard. Even their breaths remained bottled by their lungs. The florescent flood lights were the spotlight and the uneven slope was the grand stage. Jughead, even in his persistent confusion, understood the next words out of Betty’s mouth would change their lives forever.

“I won’t do this,” she said, backing away. “I won’t.” She made to leave, but a hand closed around her arm.

“What is he talking about?” Jughead asked. He tried pulling her back. “What baby?”

“Let go!” Betty ripped herself from his grasp and started skiing down the slope.

“What fucking—what fucking—?” He couldn’t get the words out.

Veronica, where she stood, was crying. Tears of anger quietly dripping down her cold-flushed face.

“I’m going after her,” Archie said. Before he could even unstick his poles, he was forcefully shoved into the ground. Jughead landed on top of him.

“ _What fucking baby!?_ ” Jughead yelled, pulling Archie up by the fleece lapels of his coat and shaking him. Spittle sprayed onto the prone boy. “ _What fucking baby!?_ ”

Archie wouldn’t raise a hand to defend himself.

“My baby,” he said.

.+.

They’d resorted to passing notes. It was grade school all over again. He would slip the scraps of paper underneath her door. Into her hand beneath the kitchen table. In between the pages of her textbooks. _Not tonight. There’s a game on. He’ll be up late._ Leaving a paper trail wasn’t advisable, but Betty enjoyed having keepsakes. At first, Archie’s notes read about as lyrically as the back of a cereal box. Before long, though, he was waxing poetic. _I don’t sleep half as well when we’re not together. The air feels different in my room. It’s too quiet. How am I supposed to sleep without you snoring? Tomorrow? Until then, I’ll miss you._ He would leave notes beneath her pillows, when he snuck out of her bed in the early hours of the morning. _I love you. Have a good day today._ He would leave them in her bathroom drawer, to find when she was getting ready. You look stunning, Betts. As always.

He couldn’t be there for her in any official capacity. The notes were his way of making up for the fact.

“Have you told anyone?” Dr. Rollins asked, pouring piping tea into a pink porcelain cup. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Sugar, please.” Betty had grown comfortable in the last week. Comfortable with being alive, at least. “No. I haven’t told anyone but you.”

Dr. Rollins plopped a single sugar cube into the dark, steaming liquid and stirred with a miniature silver spoon. “Why is that?”

“Something that wasn’t supposed to happen—didn’t happen. Almost seems irrelevant.” Betty ran her fingertips down her bare arms, encountering goosebumps. Dr. Rollins did keep her “office” quite cold.

It was more of a _study_ , than an office. Packed shelves lined the walls and they were filled with more than just books. She kept jars of preserves and knickknacks from her travels; statuettes of warrior-like women made out of bronze and framed diplomas from private institutions. A warm rug laid beneath two couches, a settee, an armchair fit for a queen, and a tea table.

Betty accepted her cup with both hands and took a sip. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Dr. Rollins sat back, clasping her hands together. “Irrelevant to whom?”

“To everyone.”

“Including yourself?”

“No.” Betty shook her head. She felt like she was trying to shake out the fog. “No, I meant… No one’s going to mourn a teenage pregnancy.”

“But you are,” Dr. Rollins said. “You’re mourning.”

“I shouldn’t be,” she replied.

“Why is that?”

Betty didn’t have an answer, only a feeling of wrongness she couldn’t shake. When she didn’t respond, Dr. Rollins continued.

“Trauma occurs when our assumptive reality—or what we assumed to be true about ourselves and our place in the world—is irrevocably changed or proved to be wrong. For about six weeks, you grew accustomed to an idea of what your life would become. In your own mind, you accepted the forthcoming changes. Your assumption being, presumably, that you would give birth to that child. Now, your reality has changed and you are left with the remnants of the old world.”

“Old world. New world.” Betty set her cup down on the table. “I’m still alone in this.”

Dr. Rollins hummed—neither an agreement nor a denial. “You have to power to change that.”

 _You have the power_. Powerful wasn’t something Betty had felt in a long time. Dr. Rollins gave her a few exercises—to help “build a new world upon the old one”—before the session was over. Archie was waiting outside, parked on the curb in his jalopy, with the windows rolled down.

“Everything go alright?” Once she was inside, he twisted the key to crank the ignition. He was trying not to stare at her.

“Yeah. Everything went good.”

“Good,” he said, pulling onto the road. “I, _uh_ —I have some news.”

Betty stared out of the window at pedestrians walking their dogs and pushing their strollers. They were fifteen minutes outside of Riverdale proper and she still recognized every other face. “Good news or bad news?” she asked.

Archie couldn’t bother with anymore buildup. He’d almost burst waiting for her to come out of Dr. Rollins house. “I told Veronica about what happened.”

Betty went still. “You told her what?”

“About how I found you,” he said. “I didn’t mean to, but—”

“ _What?_ ” Betty placed her hands on the dash. “Pull over.”

“Betts, let me explain. I was—”

“ _Pull over_ , Arch!”

Archie slowed the car down to a crawl and veered onto the shoulder of the road. “Where are you going?” he asked, when she opened the door.

Betty exited the car and, after slamming the door shut, leaned back against the cold metal. She didn’t turn to look when she heard him do the same. Instead, she stared out into the bare trees. Less than ten feet ahead, several dogwoods stood in a stoic line, like sentinels before a gate. “I don’t understand,” she said. “ _Why?_ Why would you tell her?”

“I didn’t mean to, Betty. It just happened.” He came around the front of the car and, failing to catch her eye, settled down next to her. “She wanted to know why I’d been weird. Why we weren’t…” Archie paused, unsure. “Sleeping together anymore.”

A strange quivering erupted in her chest. “Oh.”

“She was crying. I didn’t know what to say... But I should’ve thought of something and I’m sorry.”

 _So much for having the power_ , Betty thought.

Archie shuffled his feet.

“What is it?” she asked. “Is there more?”

He lifted his head to look into her eyes. “Jughead found out.”

Betty was off of the car in a matter of seconds. She ventured toward the treeline, wanting to be as far from him as possible, but he quickly caught up to her. He tried wrapping his arms around her.

“No! Don’t,” she said, twisting away.

“We were at Pop’s. He came up to the booth and Veronica assumed he already knew. Betty, please—” He reached out a tentative hand, which she easily evaded.

Pulling her phone from her back pocket, she switched off _Silent_ mode. The device began buzzing incessantly. She had seven missed calls from Jughead. Three unread texts from Veronica. Even a voicemail from her mother.

“God! Who else, Arch?! Are you sure you didn’t tell _the world_ I almost overdosed on pills?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Betty. I am.”

She wasn’t going to cry. It was done. Still, she wouldn’t be forgiving him so easily.

“I trusted you.”

He was in the wrong, but he couldn’t help the impulse to defend himself. “They’re not judging you, Betty, if that’s what you’re thinking. They love you—”

“I didn’t need their love, Arch. Or their worry. Or their _concern_. I needed you to keep what happened between us.” She stalked past him, towards the car. “I didn’t think I needed to say that. I thought you would just know, but I guess not.”

They hadn’t fought seriously since the sixth grade. Archie, Reggie, and a bunch of boys he couldn’t remember the names of now, found an abandoned four-wheeler in a field by the school. The owner had left the keys in a black leather pouch fastened to the handlebars. Reggie rode first, ripping the grass turf into curlicues of mud. When Archie’s turn came, there she was. Out of nowhere. Stomping across the field in her pink pants and pristine white sneakers. Alice was going to be furious.

She’d said he shouldn’t ride. Too dangerous. He could get hurt. Plus—wasn’t it stealing? _Borrowing_ , Reggie tried to say. She wouldn’t leave and she wouldn’t relent. Eventually, Archie went off with her just to spare the other boys from having to hear her never-ending lecture. As it turned out, Sheriff Keller found the remaining boys doing donuts and hauled them off to the station. Archie was grateful he’d been spared his father disappointment and, touting her superior knowledge, he’d hugged tight and hadn’t let go for several minutes.

He wanted to do the same now.

Opening the car door, Betty paused. “I think I want to sleep by myself tonight.”

He drove her home without uttering a single one of the _millions_ of thoughts running through his brain. He gave her space as they set the table for dinner and as they washed dishes afterward. He couldn’t make her forgive him any faster and he didn’t try to.

When one a.m. arrived, he walked out of his bedroom, down the hall, and slipped a note beneath her door.

She found the torn piece of notebook paper, striated with Archie’s messy handwriting, on the floor the next morning.

_Betty_

_Your trust is important to me. I’m sorry I broke it. I’m sorry I hurt you. You deserve better. I’ll do better. Promise._

_Arch_

.+.

“ _Stop! Stop it!_ ” Veronica screamed, pushing at Jughead. She succeeded in knocking him off of his balance, but not before he landed a solid punch to Archie’s right eye.

Jughead rolled onto his back and sprawled out his arms and legs. He looked like a dark angel who’d recently fallen from the firmament. Veronica couldn’t say whether the wetness on his face was from melting snow or his own tears.

“You were supposed to be my friend,” he said, staring up into the black sky and blinking furiously.

“I know,” Archie replied.

The snow was coming down harder already. According to a report Veronica had read earlier that day, the storm would be on top of them by three a.m. By morning, they’d receive seven inches. By midday tomorrow, they’d be snowed in. Her only thought was of returning to the cabin and packing her things before that happened.

“I’m going home,” she announced.

Archie sat up. The skin around eye was turning a livid shade of red. “Ronnie, wait…”

“It’s over, Archie. There’s no coming back from this.” She was proud of herself for keeping a level head when all she really wanted to do was kick him while he was down. “I’m going.”

.+.

Archie spent the quiet ride back to the cabin thinking about last Christmas.

He’d gone to visit his mother and her girlfriend in Chicago. Together, they’d seen the lighting of the massive Christmas tree in Millennium Park. Then they’d gone ice skating in Daley Plaza and to a German market for hot mulled wine. Finally, they’d attended a live performance of _It’s a Wonderful Life_ at Stage 773 and stayed afterwards to speak with the cast. By the time they stumbled back into his mother’s apartment, it was close to midnight. He’d checked his phone before falling into bed and, when there was only one missed call from Veronica, dissatisfaction overwhelmed his spirit.

Betty had plagued his thoughts all night. Underneath the blue light of the tree, he wondered what her face would look like if she were there. If she knew how to skate or if she’d ever tasted Glühwein. He knew she loved _It’s a Wonderful Life_ —they’d only watched the film together a thousand times—and he knew she would’ve loved to meet the performers.

He’d quickly typed out a text to her.

_Merry Christmas. I wish you could’ve been here with me today._

Then hastily deleted the last part.

She’d never responded. When he returned to Riverdale the next day… How had she looked? A bit worn out. Her skin was unusually pale. She’d handed him his gift without saying anything and spent every available moment of the next week sleeping.

He should’ve known something was wrong. He should’ve done more. Damn his father and the consequences—he should’ve been here for her.

The open-air trolley dropped them at the base of their cabin. Archie, Veronica, and Jughead climbed the short incline, an atmosphere of tense silence clinging to them. He didn’t have an inkling what he would say to Betty yet. He just needed to see her.

“Betty!” Archie called, as soon as the door was open.

“Don’t you think _I_ should be the one to speak to _my_ girlfriend first?” Jughead asked.

“I’m not doing this right now,” Archie said, leaving him behind. He jogged through the living room, throwing a quick glance out onto the terrace. “Betty!”

“She may not have decency, but if she has any sense, she’ll have taken the car and left him here.” Tearing off her mittens one-by-one, she caught Jughead’s eye. “She had the _audacity_ to be upset with me after I allowed her cry on _my_ shoulder about losing _my_ boyfriend’s baby?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” Jughead sank down onto the couch. “Remember?”

“Yes. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Guys!” Archie ran back into the living room. “She’s not here.”

“Good for her,” Veronica muttered. “She’s probably on her way to Riverdale by now.”

Archie held up his hand. His keys, glinting in the lamp light, dangled from his fingers. “She didn’t take my car.”

A hush fell over the trio as they considered what that meant.

“Maybe she’s at the lodge…?” Veronica suggested.

Jughead checked his wristwatch. “It’s eleven. The lodge closes at ten.”

Archie dropped his keys. They hit the floor with a _clank_. He began walking toward the door. “Call the lodge. Tell them she’s missing. Have them send rangers.”

“Where are you going?” Veronica asked.

At the same time, Jughead said, “I’m coming with you.”

“Let’s go then.” Archie turned to Veronica. “I know you’re upset, Ron—and you have every right to be—but Betty needs our help right now. She’s somewhere out there and the storm is going to hit soon. Will you text us once they’ve sent the rangers?”

Veronica breathed in deep. “Yes. Now go.”

.+.

After two hours of frantic searching, Jughead and Archie reconvened at the base of the mountain.

“Anything?” Archie asked, out of breath.

Jughead shook his head. His hair dripped slush. “I can barely see out there.”

The storm had whipped into a fever pitch. Twelve mile-an-hour winds out of the west blew trails of snow off the mountain and into the air.

“Veronica said they sent the rangers out an hour ago. They’ll find her,” Jughead said. “We should go back.”

“You go,” Archie replied, turning. “I’m not leaving her out here.”

A heavy hand came down on his shoulder, halting him.

“I love her, too. More than anyone—including _you_. Even now. Even knowing what she did.” Jughead applied pressure until Archie faced him. “Doesn’t change the fact that we can’t stay out here.”

He was right. They weren’t dressed properly. They didn’t have flashlights or compasses. Archie could feel his own sweat crystallizing into ice as they stood there speaking.

“They’ll find her,” Jughead repeated.

Archie hung his head. “If anything happens to her, I—”

“I know,” Jughead said, taking his hand off of Archie’s shoulder. “ _Me too_.”

.+.

At one point, she thought she heard her mother’s voice. _Keep your phone on you at all times, Elizabeth. Even on the slopes…_ The tone was too even, though. Too kind. It was, more likely, the wind whistling through the trees. That, or the gradual breakdown of her senses.

Betty leaned her head back against the tree. Her phone had died hours ago.

She’d returned her skis to the lodge and, unable to fathom returning to the cabin, set off into the woods. Towering maple trees provided ample coverage from the snow. Underneath their canopy, the world was quiet and still. Her feet _crunched_ with every step, but there were no animals chittering, no bugs buzzing, no birds chirping. Betty thought of a children’s book she’d loved as a young girl called _We All Sleep._ It was a lullaby for the elephants and the cheetahs and the gazelles and the human babies, wrapped up in their mother’s arms, attempting to fall into a peaceful slumber. Strangely, Betty missed her mother.

As she walked through the forest, she cried.

How had she ended up this alone? Having succeeded in hurting Jughead worse than anyone ever had, she harbored no hopes of regaining his trust. Veronica would never speak to her again. Surely. And Betty understood. She’d wrapped her mind around the eventuality of losing the two last November—the first night she and Archie had sex.

The truth was like a splinter. Give it time and it would push its way out. Only, she hadn’t expected to be alone when it did.

Archie’s face swirled before her eyes in the near darkness. She’d lost their baby and kept the whole ordeal a secret. Now he knew. She couldn’t retrieve the pain of knowing any more than she could stop loving him.

As the hours ticked on and the canopy began to rage—twisting and shaking with each gust—she kept putting one foot in front of the other. That’s what everyone wanted, right? For her to keep going. With no thought to what the future might hold or whether her legs would even be strong enough to carry her the full distance. Which they weren’t. She’d felt the subtle twinges in both of her calves and ignored them. After an inordinate amount of time spent wondering aimlessly, her right foot came down on a log wrong and the misplaced pressure on her sole sent a chain reaction up the back of her leg. The tendon in her calf pulled taught, causing her ankle to twist at an unnatural angle.

Betty cried out and sank to her knees. Her other calf muscle pulled. There was nothing to do for several minutes except seethe and wait. She tried to rub the offended flesh, but without constant movement, there was nothing to combat the invasion of a deadly chill. Her legs ceased spasming for a moment, but when she tried to stand, they locked up worse than her father.

Unable to walk, Betty crawled to the nearest tree. A colossal red maple, the lofty branches of which shook down tufts of snow every three minutes.

She should’ve known. Her dream. Walt. She’d been warned, in her own way. Now she was going to freeze to death, alone, in a forest. How fitting that she should die amidst a storm named after the baby she lost. How fitting, indeed.

.+.

At six a.m. the rangers called off the search. Archie nearly sent his fist through a wall.

“They said they’d reconvene at sunrise. There’s just no visibility right now. They could literally walk right past her and miss her.” Veronica set her phone down on the kitchen counter and stifled a yawn. They’d been up all night.

“Sunrise may be too late. If she’s not dead from hypothermia already, she will be—”

“Don’t say that, Jug.” Archie’s heart was pounding in his chest. “Don’t say that.”

“Sorry. That’s how I cope.” Jughead sighed.

“Sunrise is only an hour away. Betty’s tough. She’ll be fine,” Veronica said. She wanted to believe the words coming out of her mouth, if only so she could continue hating the girl they all wanted to be found. 

“I’m going to take a shower,” Archie announced.

“Good. Try to sleep, if you can. We’ll wake you up if they anything changes.” Veronica shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe Betty’s out there somewhere, warm and comfortable? Who’s to say she doesn’t come waltzing in here any minute?”

“Yeah. I hope so.” Archie walked out of the kitchen, through his and Veronica’s room, and into the bathroom. He turned on the shower, stripped down to nothing, then began layering on undergarments. The usual long johns wouldn’t do. He plied on woolen socks, an Under Armour base layer, a long-sleeve sweater his mother had given him for Christmas, the flannel pajamas he almost never wore, a pair of thick jeans, his N3B parka, a chenille scarf, his father’s black leather gloves, and a ski mask that only covered his nose and mouth. By the time he was finished, the bathroom had filled with steam and Archie had begun to sweat profusely beneath it all.

He opened the bathroom door and stalked across the room. There was a small, fenced patio attached to both suites. Only a short drop to the ground. When Archie opened the sliding door, a blast of cold air stung every bit of his exposed skin.

If Betty was out there, she’d be close to freezing by now. He needed to find her. Soon.

.+.

As it turned out, hypothermia was better than drugs. Once she’d moved past the excruciating pain in her limbs—the incessant tensing of muscles she hadn’t known she had and the volatile shuddering of her lungs—everything became easy. The air didn’t feel cold anymore and the ground didn’t feel hard. She saw snow collecting on her skin and didn’t bother to brush it away.

She hadn’t set out to kill herself. After the last time, she knew she didn’t want to die. She only wanted to sleep. Every road led to the same dead end, though. If she was going to go, this seemed the best way. _We All Sleep._ And it would be just like that. Like drifting off, never to wake again. Except, instead of her mother’s arms, she’d be held by the roots of the red maple tree. And instead of a softly sung lullaby, she’d be serenaded by eddies of wind rushing through leaves and the groans of branches.

Betty closed her eyes. She couldn’t feel her body anymore. She was nothing but a sliver of awareness now. A vision of warmth blossomed behind her eyelids. Her _dream_. The light washing over the scene was golden. Archie sang from somewhere she couldn’t see and there, nestled in between her legs, was the baby. Their baby. Gurgling. Using his chubby hands to grab hold of her hair, which had grown long. Smiling down at the embodiment of youth, Betty felt older than seventeen.

The vision gradually grew darker. As time went by, she struggled to make out the features on Walt’s miniscule face. Archie’s voice came to caress her consciousness lighter than a feather. Betty held onto the dream as long as she could. It was all she had left.

.+.

Archie wasn’t religious. He’d never even been to church.

_Please God. Let her be alive. Let me find her. Please God. Let her be alive. Let me find her. Please God…_

The mantra repeated in his head without any effort on his part.

He’d stopped by the lodge to find the doors locked. _We open at 8 am,_ the sign on the door read. Archie saw a shadowy figure milling around inside and banged on the glass several times.

“We’re closed!” they yelled.

“I know! I need to speak to someone about my friend! She’s missing.” The last part, he couldn’t quite yell.

A man in his fifties, balding, in grey coveralls, unlocked the door and allowed Archie inside. “She’s out in this storm?” he asked.

“Yes. I need to know if she returned her gear last night.”

“This way,” the man said, waving his hand.

Archie followed him through the half-lit halls to an office.

“What’s your friend’s name?” the man asked, pulling down a binder from a shelf of identical binders.

Archie cleared his throat. “Betty Cooper.”

“Betty Copper…” The man ran his finger down a grid.

“ _Cooper_ ,” Archie corrected.

“Ah, there she is. Looks like she returned her skis last night at 9:55.”

That’s what he’d needed to hear. Archie took off running after saying, “Thank you!”

“Hope you find your friend!” the man yelled back.

After leaving the lodge, he considered which path Betty would’ve most likely taken. If she’d been trying to escape the situation between the four of them, she wouldn’t have gone in the direction of the cabin, which ruled out east. He and Jughead had searched the mountain, as had the rangers, which ruled out north. That left the west and the south. From what Archie could remember, the road into Maple Valley came from the west and the Ottaquechee River cut across the south. Everything in between was wilderness. Between the two directions, it was anyone’s guess which way she’d chosen.

Archie chose south. He could only go as far as the river and, once he’d reached that threshold, he could use the bank to guide his progression westward. He would need to be quick, however. Even though sunrise wasn’t far off, the temperature continued to drop.

“Betty!” Archie shined his phone light on every stick, stone, and tree within throwing distance. “Betty!” He screamed until his throat went raw. “Betty!”

Coming upon the racing waters of the river, he angled a new trajectory before delving back into the woods. Something implored him to sing _Give Me a Reason_. Perhaps, because Betty had mentioned the song being in her dream. Perhaps, because the relevance of the dream and the name Walt was no longer lost on him. Perhaps, because it was the first song he’d ever written and it had been about her.

_Give me a reason for believing. That rogue smile, its hidden meaning. It’s been us, right from the start. You keep my fragile heart beating._

Pretty good for a thirteen-year-old.

_Give me a reason for trying. That open window, that girl crying. It’s been us, every single time. Every sign written in your handwriting._

His boots sank into the snow. Veronica hadn’t been wrong about seven inches. The ground was a blanket of white. Archie passed by a rough-hewn tool shed. The door was open and quick peek inside revealed no Betty.

_Give me a reason for singing. That gentle laugh, its subtle ringing. If she’s in, then so am I. She keeps me flying high._

The lack of sleep was catching up with him, but he couldn’t stop. He needed to find her. He would find her and he would help her through this. He wouldn’t play anything safe anymore. How could he? When anything could be taken away?

He wouldn’t deny them both the one thing they needed in this life—each other.

Archie gave up singing to let loose a desperate scream. “ _Betty!_ ”

.+.

His singing had returned, but there was something different about it this time. It was louder. Instead of issuing from the back of her skull, the sound seemed to come from outside of her. Betty couldn’t open her eyes to look around. She couldn’t lift an arm to wave or even her mouth to speak. She felt frozen.

“ _Betty!_ ”

I’m here. I’m right here. I’m… “ _Here_ ,” she managed to croak.

Archie’s ears picked up something, but he couldn’t be sure it was anything more than the wind. “Betty?” he said, shining his light every which way.

“ _Here_ ,” she said again, more forcefully.

Archie’s flashlight happened up her legs. He raised the light to find her slouched against the base of a gigantic tree, partially covered in snow. “Betty,” he breathed. He ran to her, but the relief overtaking him made his motions slow and stilted.

Betty pried her eyes open to find her friend crouching in front of her. If she’d been able to feel her lips, she might’ve smiled.

Archie swiped at her body, brushing off clumps of snow. Her bare fingers had turned an unsettling shade of blue, as had her nose and the tips of her ears.

“We need to get out of this storm. I’m going to pick you up, okay?” He didn’t wait for her to respond. “On the count of three. _One, two, three._ ” Archie hauled her stiff body up and into his arms.

Betty’s jaw unlocked, allowing a scream to rip through. The sudden movement sent blood flooding to every muscle in her body. “Stop. Stop. Stop,” she pleaded, through chattering teeth.

“I can’t stop, Betty. I’m sorry.”

Every step Archie took sent reverberations through her bones. _Now_ , she wanted to die.

“We’re almost there,” he said.

Wherever _there_ was, Betty was unconscious before they made it inside.

.+.

“He’s gone,” Veronica said. She’d just returned from switching off the shower Archie left running. “Why do I always fall for the dumb ones?”

Jughead cracked his neck, then leaned back onto the counter. “You offset intimacy with a perceived superiority over those closest to you?”

Veronica blinked slowly. “This is why we’re not friends,” she said.

“We are friends. I think.” He swiped a bottle of spiced rum from beside the refrigerator. “No clue how, but we are.”

“Are you really going to drink?” she asked. “I can barely keep my eyes open as it is.”

“ _Veronica_ ,” Jughead started. She knew, just by his tone, he was getting ready to explain something asinine to her. “Our significant others slept with each other and made a baby. My girlfriend is missing and your ex-boyfriend… is also missing. Technically. How can we not drink?”

Even though she resented his matter-of-factness, Veronica couldn’t deny how good it would feel to be delirious and tipsy and to forget everything for a few hours. “Pass it here.”

As snow collected on the windows, blurring the outside world into stripes of white and grey, the rum warmed them. After four big gulps, Veronica began to giggle. She trapezed around the living room—flipping over chairs and climbing onto the coffee table—while Jughead watched from the couch, nursing his liquor more slowly.

“Do you reckon they’re each other’s true love?” he asked.

Veronica halted on top of the coffee table, mid-dance. Looking _through_ Jughead, she slurred, “I reckon they’re each other’s fucking soulmates.”

He raised the bottle. “Can’t fight destiny.” Then chugged.

.+.

When Betty awoke, she was warm all over. She could still hear the wind—unrelenting in its ferocity—and yet, she felt almost feverish with warmth. Shifting, she felt her skin slip across skin. Her eyes flew open.

Archie’s sleeping face loomed only an inch or so from hers. There was no space between their intertwined bodies and, besides the clothes draped over them like a makeshift blanket, they were both naked. A soft _hum_ behind Betty caused her to turn her head.

They were in a tool shed the size of her bathroom at home. Lacking windows, the only available light came from the red glow of a space heater. Archie had positioned her closest to the heat source.

She didn’t wake him. Instead, she closed her eyes and went back to sleep. When she woke up again, his eyes were open. He was staring down at her.

“Hello,” she said.

“Hello.” He was rubbing her back—the special spot he’d found during those five days—and she felt calmer than she’d ever felt. “How are you?”

“Better. I can feel my toes.”

Archie smiled. For the first time in several hours, he felt the crack which had split open his heart. Tears, hot and numerous, spilled from his eyes.

“ _Arch_.” Betty brought her hand up to wipe away his tears, but before she could do so, he dragged her to him and buried his face in her neck. She rested her hand on the back of his head, combing through his short locks with her fingers. “I’m sorry.”

The tears just kept coming. Even though he was happy. Even though they were safe now.

“I’m so sorry,” Betty said, trying not to cry herself. She’d put him through the ringer. And for what? Because she couldn’t face reality.

“No.” Archie squeezed her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been there for you.”

“You _were_. Every single time.” She kissed his neck. “You did everything you could.”

“I should’ve done more. I should’ve known.”

“How you could you have?” She tapped his shoulder twice and he pulled back. They locked eyes. “It’s not your fault, Arch. None of it is.”

They laid like that for a while. Petting and stroking each other into oblivion while the storm ratcheted up in intensity outside. She gently pressed the dark blue mark beside his eye and he feigned a wince. Betty grew overheated and asked Archie to switch places with her. Once they’d settled down again, she said, “Ask me anything. Anything you want.”

He took his time, mulling over where to start. “When did you find out?”

“Two or three weeks after the wedding. Toward the end of November.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Betty looked away. “We weren’t speaking. I was confused… at first. I just wanted to pretend like nothing was happening. You seemed _fine_ without me. I don’t know. I assumed you wouldn’t want anything to do with—”

The look in his eyes stopped her in her tracks.

“I should’ve told you,” she said. “Especially after.”

“Was it Christmas? Christmas day?”

Betty _hummed_ in the affirmative. “My mom took me to visit my dad.”

Archie hadn’t known that. “What happened?”

“I—I got scared,” she said. “Just for a second. But that was all it took.”

Archie swept his hand down her back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Betty nodded. She couldn’t say whether she believed him, but it was nice to hear him say the words.

“I never told you what my Dad said.” Archie sighed. “He told me if we didn’t stop seeing each other, he’d kick me out. Send me to live with my mom in Chicago. And, if he’d told her, your mom might’ve send you to The Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”

“Might’ve?” Betty scoffed. “She would’ve.”

“That’s why I ended things. I thought it would be better for us to stay together… Even if we couldn’t be _together_. I was wrong.”

“No.” Betty placed a chaste kiss on his lips. “You did the right thing. That was a hard decision to make.”

“Betty.” He didn’t take his eyes from hers. “I can’t do it anymore. I won’t.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying—you’re the girl I’ve been in love with since first grade. All I want to do is take care of you and be with you. I love you. I don’t ever want be apart from you.”

After that, there was no more _her body_ or _his body_. There was only the amalgamation of all their parts. Disparate thoughts, indistinguishable feelings, and all their sweaty limbs. Betty wasn’t interested in extricating herself from him. She never would be again.

.+.

Jughead tried to flip over on the couch but there was a weight on his chest. He opened his eyes and, blinking out the bleariness, found Veronica lying on top of him.

“Are you awake?” A hiccup followed her question.

“No.”

“Liar.”

“Why are you on me?” Jughead came to realize his hand was resting on the crest of her ass. He couldn’t move the appendage without bringing attention to the area on which it laid, so he kept still.

“Why not?” Veronica replied, raising her head. Her lips were pouted. “Am I heavy?”

“Is this what you’re like when you’re drunk?”

“Don’t be mean to me, Jones. I can’t cope.” She lowered her head back onto his chest.

“You’re not heavy. You feel nice, actually,” he grumbled.

“Why do you sound upset?” Her head popped back up.

“Go to sleep, Veronica.” Jughead closed his eyes.

“I can’t. My mafia blood is screaming at me to seek revenge. Or, if not revenge, then at least a level playing field.”

He felt her hand on his jaw.

“Look at me,” she said.

Jughead kept his eyes resolutely closed as long as he could, because he knew when he opened them, she would be looking at him like _that._

“Kiss me,” Veronica demanded.

“No,” he said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Yes, you do.” She ground her hips down onto his semi. “Are you still loyal to Betty? Is that why you won’t kiss me?”

Jughead swallowed. He didn’t want to be loyal to Betty anymore. He didn’t want to feel beholden to her anymore. “If I kiss you, will you shut up?”

Veronica grinned. “Sure.”

He kissed her. For an instant, his lips forgot how to work. A tendril of fear wrapped around his heart.

Veronica drew back, pulling his bottom lip between her teeth. “Relax,” she said.

Jughead grabbed her by her hips and flipped them both over. Her surprise made her _cackle_. “I know how to kiss, Veronica.”

“Do you?”

Leaning down, he captured her lips with his. After he moved past the fact he was kissing Veronica, he was able to actually _enjoy_ kissing Veronica. She knew what she was doing. Jughead stopped when she wrapped her hand around his dick.

“You said _a kiss_. We’re not doing that.”

“Why not?” Veronica asked. This time, she wasn’t playful. She wasn’t teasing. She was _despondent._ Jughead pulled out of her grasp.

“Because you’re not yourself right now,” he said, climbing off of the couch.

“ _Jones._ Come back!” she called.

Jughead went into his room and shut the door.

.+.

Betty met with Dr. Rollins one final time before coming on the trip. 

“Have you practiced any of the exercises I gave you last session?”

Dr. Rollins knew how Betty took her tea without having to ask now. She handed her the porcelain cup, then sat back in her queenly chair.

“I did.” Betty took a sip and waited for the warm tea to disperse throughout her chest. “I visualized the reality I lost at night, before I went to sleep.”

“How did that go?”

She wouldn’t say _good._ “I saw things. Myself, with the baby and… The baby’s father.”

“How did the visualization feel?” Dr. Rollins pressed.

“It felt happy. We were happy.”

Dr. Rollins nodded. “What about the other exercise?”

“In the mornings, I visualized the life I see for myself now.” Betty found her gaze drifting away, out of the window, as it had during her first session.

“And how did you envision your new reality?”

The corner of Betty’s mouth curled upward. “It was exactly the same.”

.+.

They were bound together like two ends of a string. He pushed, she pulled. She pushed, he pulled. Their pleasure exploded from their bodies, into the air, threatening to dismantle the tiny shed more efficiently and rapidly than the storm rampaging outside.

“Archie!”

“ _Betts_.”

He found himself on the edge of an abyss, but he wouldn’t go over unless they went together.

“Will you marry me?”

“What?!” Betty screamed.

Archie didn’t stop. “ _Elizabeth Caroline Cooper._ ” He bit her earlobe before repeating himself. “Will you marry me?”

A bubbling laugh took hold of her body. She couldn’t control herself. “Yes! Yes!”

Archie followed her over the edge.

Upon beginning their descent, their laughter only escalated.

“Was that a yes?” he asked, chuckling lowly.

She ran her nose along his jaw. “I told you if you asked me again I would say yes.”

He smiled. “But we’re not eighteen.”

“Same difference.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like throwing massive curve-balls for absolutely no reason. Keeps life fun. Jughead and Veronica? They're eerily similar when you watch them. Archie's proposal? They say never trust anything a man says in the heat of passion, but Archie always seems to me in a heat of passion so... Seemed natural for him, lol. 
> 
> Here's another curveball: Chapter Six will be the final chapter of We Are All Hypocrites; With Fists of Ice. It'll serve as an epilogue of sorts. I've put you all through a lot these past five chapters and you deserve a HEA (whatever that may look like for these two). I'm excited to finish this series off strongly. Your generosity and enthusiasm has - as one person on Twitter put it - "infested" me. I've gained the much needed confidence to begin working on a few of my original projects. This girl is getting published (one day!). For your help, I am eternally grateful. 
> 
> Tune in for Chapter Six to find out how this ski trip from hell ends and where they go from there. Until then, I love you all. 
> 
> CB


	6. And It's Still Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trips. Fist fights. Kissing in the rain. 
> 
> How does the saga end?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovelies! 
> 
> You're about to read the final chapter in a series called, 'We Are All Hypocrites; With Fists of Ice.' Or, WAAH. This chapter is over 12,000 words. It is almost thirty-seven pages. It's actually like two and a half chapters mushed together and bound with a pretty ribbon. As you unwrap this chapter - take your time. The purpose of writing so much is for you guys to be able to languish in this alternate reality a little while longer. Don't feel as though you need to finish quickly and comment, or anything like that. Take as long as you need.
> 
> Thank you riding along on this journey with me. It's been the most fun I've had in ages. I made a six-song playlist to pair with this story. Each song was either featured in the story or has corresponding lyrics. I hope repeat readers (love you guys!) will be able to unlock new dimensions of the story while listening. Here's the link: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLmXVG3E6pjUifxMCj9hNkI-uxj7CG39wR
> 
> And, if you haven't seen the video I made for this series, here's a link: https://www.dropbox.com/s/75b7esvuj3ewe4w/Video%20May%2025%2C%2011%2045%2041%20AM.mov?dl=0
> 
> Notes at the bottom of the chapter detail my future plans. 
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I fabricated certain procedures relating to the procurement of marriage licenses, the legal age of marriage in US states, and the other details. This is a work of *fiction*.

**Chapter Six:**

**And It’s Still Alright**

The motel curtains were cheap. Paper-thin and made out of sheer linen. When the sun rose at seven, Betty could’ve made out the individual plate numbers on any of the cars parked in the lot outside their window.

Instead of trying to go back to sleep, she sat up.

Their room was small. They’d slept in a twin-sized bed with stiff, over-starched sheets and pillows which lacked stuffing. There were small, black spots in the carpet Betty was afraid to look at too closely. The coffee maker on the table by the door was broken. And, defying all sense or reason, she couldn’t flush the toilet without paying twenty-five cents. After the opulence of Maple Valley Resort, this rundown motel on the outskirts of Mississippi was akin to a hellhole.

She allowed her gaze to fall onto the bed beside her. For _him_ , she could endure far worse.

Archie was curled up on his side, with his face resting close to her thigh. His mouth hung open and his bottom lip jutted out in his sleep.

She ran her fingers lightly through his hair. Shy rays of sunlight tickled the tips, making red appear golden. _I love you_ , she whispered, continuing to stroke him. The next eleven minutes were spent in peaceful silence. Outside, restless crows squawked at the dawn. Inside, all was still. Until she felt him stirring.

“I love you, too.” Archie scrunched his eyes and flipped over onto his back. “This is the worst bed I’ve ever slept on.”

“Accurate.” Betty smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning.” His eyes finally pried themselves open to stare up at her. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I did.” She’d picked up the driving in Tennessee. After four straight hours, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the bed. “About six hours.”

“Good.” Archie lifted himself up onto his forearms. His bare chest emerged from beneath the sheets. “Once we’ve had breakfast, I’ll head to the clerks’ office and file for the license. Shouldn’t be more than thirty dollars.”

Betty recommenced brushing his wild hair. “Okay.”

“You want to come? I can drop you off in town. You can look for a dress.” Underneath the covers, Archie’s hand rubbed her calf. He smirked. “Unless you want to stay here?”

Unable to help herself, she leaned down and planted a soft kiss on his teasing lips. “Absolutely not.”

After laughing, he abruptly clammed up.

“What?” she asked.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, but… You should consider inviting Ronnie.”

Betty had almost forgotten about the presence of their former lovers, despite the fact a thin wall was the only thing separating them on either side. “Do you think she’d want to come?”

“She’s here, isn’t she?”

Betty sighed. “Guess we’re going dress shopping then.”

.+.

The rangers found them huddled in the shed several hours later. Thankfully, by then, they’d dressed themselves in Archie’s clothes. The head ranger insisted they undergo an examination, but since the road leading out of the valley was blocked, their check-up was performed by a medical resident at the lodge.

As they were escorted back to the cabin, Archie held Betty’s hand in his. The wind had ceased, but the pale sky continued to send down snow. He’d asked one of the rangers how long they expected the storm to continue. _We’ll get all our inches tonight, but don’t expect the roads clear until tomorrow. Plowers here don’t ride on Sundays._

They’d dropped them at their cabin—a red box of a building—and, after imploring them to stay inside, waved goodbye.

“Thank you!” Betty called to their retreating forms. She glanced up at him. “Thank you, too.”

Archie dropped her hand to wrap his arm around her neck and pull her close. “Anytime,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

He’d braced himself for Veronica and Jughead to be at the kitchen island; for their disturbed faces to slacken with surprise, then relief. Instead, the house appeared empty.

“Guys—?”

Betty placed a hand on his chest. “Hold on.”

She walked out of the foyer, past the kitchen, through the living room, and halted before the door to her and Jug’s suite. After cracking the door open and peeking inside, she returned. “He’s asleep.”

Archie followed suit. The same was true for Veronica.

“We’ll talk to them later.”

“Alright, but… Where do _we_ sleep?” Archie asked. He’d spent the last few hours conversing with Betty and—when she finally drifted off—staring at her face in awe. He was tired.

“Take the couch. I’m going to make some food for later.” Her hand cupped the side of his face. The gesture was minor, almost casual, like she’d reached for him without thinking.

He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “I don’t regret a thing.”

“Neither do I.”

“Wake me when they’re both up,” he said.

Archie fell asleep to the sound of a whisk whipping in a bowl. Betty used to bake all the time when they were young. She’d stopped in middle school because Alice told her she was putting on weight. He’d missed her snickerdoodles and puff pastries ever since. The smell of sweets wasn’t what pulled him from his slumber, though. He heard elevated voices and the crystalline crash of shattering glass.

“I didn’t do _anything_!” Veronica yelled. “There’s no moral high ground for you to stand on, Betty!”

Archie was on his feet before he’d even opened his eyes. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing!” Betty was sequestered in the corner of the kitchen by the stove. “Just Veronica refusing to listen to anything but the sound of her own voice. As always.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

“You have nothing. Not even your own step-brother’s lovechild.”

Archie’s mind felt a step behind the action. Betty was already lunging across the space between them, her arms outstretched, her fingers curled into claws. She raked them across Veronica’s neck. The other girl wound her hand into Betty’s hair and yanked.

Taking a running start, Archie vaulted himself over the island and plopped down on the other side. A _crunch_ alerted him to the broken glass littering the floor. He barely registered the pain. “Stop!”

Grabbing Betty by the arms, he attempted to pull her back. However, Veronica wouldn’t release her grip on her hair.

“Let go.”

Archie hadn’t seen Jughead enter the kitchen. His slender arms circled around Veronica’s waist from behind, lifting her pint-sized body and hauling her away with ease. She still fought to escape. Jughead muttered in her ear: _You’re not this person. Stop, V. Please stop._ Archie saw something in Jug he hadn’t seen before and wondered if there wasn’t something different in his voice, too.

Picking Betty up, he placed her on the island. The floor was covered in blood, glass, and an unidentified white substance. Archie could feel pin-like shards digging into the bottoms of his feet. “Are you okay?”

She was crying—either from pain or rage—and refused to meet his eye. “I’m fine, Arch.”

“Stay here.” Archie climbed back over the island. Braving excruciating pain, he walked across the living room. “Could you grab the first aid kit and a broom?”

Jughead abandoned his place beside Veronica. He was the only one who hadn’t stepped in glass. “I know what to get,” he said. Then left.

Archie sank down onto the couch and placed his head into his hands.

Veronica’s laugh was dry and sweet, like potpourri. “This must be terrible for you. All of us, trapped, with no way out.” Her laughter petered out into nothing. “Serves you right, Archiekins.”

Archie raised his head. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you are.” The venom was gone. Veronica sounded exactly as she had on the numerous occasions they’d lain in bed together, conversing in the middle of the night. “That’s what hurts. I don’t think you’re sorry at all.”

Jughead returned carrying the items he’d been sent to retrieve.

“Thanks.” Archie removed a roll of gauze, two strips of tape, a pair of tweezers, and a handful of alcohol wipes from the kit before handing it back to Jug. “I’ll take care of Ron, if you’ll take care of Betty.”

Jughead departed without saying anything.

“You’ll have a harder time convincing him you’re sorry than me.” Veronica sniffed. “He still loves her.”

Archie held out his hand and Veronica gingerly placed her ankle into his palm. He settled her limb onto his leg, then began sanitizing the tweezers. “You don’t love me anymore?” He didn’t take his gaze away from the matter at hand.

“No.”

“ _Oh._ ” Each piece of glass was deposited onto the coffee table. A small, bloody pile had formed by the time he spoke again. “I still love you.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“I always will.” His eyes swept over the sole of her petite foot. Once he’d determined all of the glass was gone, he took an alcohol wipe and began cleaning the blood. “From the first moment I saw you, I wanted to know… _Who is that mysterious girl in black?_ ”

He smiled at her. It was everything Veronica could do not to smile back.

“I’ll always care about you, Ron. I’ll always want to protect you. I’ll always want the best for you. You showed me what love could be.” The off-white gauze slowly ate up her foot. When he’d taped the bandage, he held out his hand for her other foot.

Veronica watched him as he attended to her injuries. His focus never wavered—not for a moment—and he was gruelingly gentle. Despite everything, the thought occurred to her she’d fallen in love with a good man.

“How many times?” she asked.

Archie was ready for her. “Seven. Over the span of four days.”

The breath having left her lungs, Veronica was forced to nod.

“I _am_ sorry.” He leaned forward to catch her eye. “You deserve better.”

It was such an Archie thing to say, she almost wanted to laugh. “ _I know._ ”

He finished taping her foot. “I don’t expect either of you to forgive us…”

“I’m not giving any time constraints. I won’t even estimate how long it will take, but…” Veronica took back her foot. “I _think_ I’ll be able to forgive you. One day.”

“And Betty?”

Veronica narrowed her dark eyes. “Doubtful.”

.+.

Archie parked his car on Canal Street. It was a short stretch of road with shiplap-sided, mom-and-pop restaurants and retail stores with glass windows, only two blocks over from the county clerk’s office. The air outside was surprisingly muggy for March and the children ambling around wore shorts and tank tops.

“I’ll text you when we’re done. Shouldn’t take long,” he’d said, before they went their separate ways.

Betty had merely waved. Veronica was already walking away and Jughead, where he stood behind Archie, blinked with impatience.

“You’re not likely to find a Barney’s here, or its equivalent. You may as well just choose one.” Veronica swatted at a gnat.

They’d strolled in tense silence for several minutes. Betty peered into each shop they passed, waiting for an apparel store that didn’t specialize in hunting gear or sports’ paraphernalia. There were only a handful of stores left.

“I’d rather get married in my underwear than in _that._ ”

They’d stopped in front of a display featuring a mannequin in a sequined one-piece.

“I’m not sure you could pull off either.”

“Thanks.”

They continued on. Betty was preparing to give up all hope, when Veronica paused.

“I think we’ve found your best option.”

Following her gaze, Betty’s eyes alighted on the storefront of a dress boutique called _Magnolias_. The exterior was painted a dark green. The lettering shone gold. The mannequins posing in the window donned floor-length, floral dresses.

“It’s no Vera Wang, but then again you are working on a _budget_.” Veronica pranced up the front steps—her white skirt flapping behind her—and disappeared into the shop.

The associate roaming the floor offered them sparkling water. _No champagne?_ Veronica muttered. Once she found out they were shopping for Betty’s wedding, she set them up in a private dressing room to have pieces brought in her size.

After they’d settled into one of the back rooms, Betty thanked her.

“I’ll also need a few pieces to choose from,” Veronica said.

The woman smiled. Her teeth were a handful of pearls. “Are you one of the bridesmaids?”

“No. Ex-bestfriend. She’s marrying my ex-boyfriend and needs a witness, so…” Veronica sighed. “Here I am.”

The woman’s smile faded. “That’s… kind of you.” She backed out of the dressing room quickly.

Betty couldn’t bite her tongue anymore. “Why are you here, Veronica?”

“I just said—”

“No, why are you _here_? You didn’t have to come today.”

“You asked,” Veronica spat, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “You’re right, Betty. I didn’t have to come. But since you’re already getting married in the middle of nowhere, in the unsavory municipal confines of a courthouse, I thought I’d at least make sure you look half-way decent.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” Betty asked.

“Doing _what_?”

“Acting like a bitch.”

In the dead air that followed, Betty thought back to their fight in the cabin kitchen. She’d been mixing meringue for the mini key lime pies when Veronica staggered into the kitchen.

“You’re alive,” she’d said, deadpan. “ _Wonderful._ ”

Betty knew she should’ve woken Archie. She knew he would’ve wanted to be a part of the conversation, but… She had her reasons not to.

“Would you have preferred I wasn’t?”

“Let’s not pretend as if you care what I prefer, _Betty._ ”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Your preferences have dictated this friendship, _Veronica._ ”

“I would’ve preferred my bestfriend not sleep with my boyfriend, for starters.”

“And I would’ve preferred my miscarriage remain a secret.” Betty set down the mixing bowl on the counter. “I’m not making excuses for what I did. I violated your trust. Now, will you admit you violated mine?”

That’s when Veronica swiped the bowl off of the counter. Betty couldn’t say what happened next. She only remembered the words _step-brother_ and _lovechild_ —because she’d never heard them used in a sentence together before—then she’d blacked out. When she came to again, Archie was staring into her eyes, asking if she was alright.

In the dressing room, instead of another fight, a strange bubbling laughter broke out between both girls. Neither could say why. It was as though the fissure in their friendship had finally widened enough to allow latent pressure to burst through. The laughing continued, growing wilder and harsher, until Veronica had tears in their eyes.

She held up her hands, her chest still shaking with unexplainable mirth. “How should I act?”

Betty clutched at her side. She’d been prepared to ask: _How did I act when you started dating him?_ But then she remembered the venom she’d spewed on numerous occasions. The jabs. The thinly-veiled insults. The low-grade pleasure she’d taken in Veronica’s misfortune.

“I don’t know,” Betty said. The laughter had died. “However you want, I guess.”

Veronica seemed to shrink. Whereas she’d always appeared larger-than-life—a Manhattan princess—now she resembled the confused teen she really was. “ _God._ I really am a bitch, aren’t I?”

“No.” Betty pulled her chair closer. “You’re not. You have every right to be upset.”

Veronica dabbed beneath her eyes, hoping to salvage what was left of her makeup. “I knew you were meant to be,” she said, matter-of-fact. “I knew he loved you more than me. From the beginning. I knew and yet… I still thought I could change his mind.” Delicately clearing her throat, she asked, “Did you think of me? Did you ever stop and think: _This is really going to hurt Veronica?_ ”

Betty paused. “While everything was happening? No.”

Veronica nodded.

“I didn’t think of you until after. And then I thought we would find a way to make things right. We’d break things off with you and Jughead. We’d wait a while to be together publically. We’d handle everything like normal people would.” Betty bit her lip. “Except we’re not normal people. Our parents are married. Fred discovered us and Archie said he didn’t want to be with me and I found out I was pregnant and…”

She couldn’t continue. A part of her wanted to explain—to put everything in its rightful place, even within her own mind—but she couldn’t. The particulars were still too painful.

Veronica surveyed Betty with new eyes.

“I’m sorry for what I said about you not having his baby. It was probably the most callous thing that’s ever come out of my mouth.” She breathed out harshly. “And I’m sorry I didn’t keep your secret when I knew how much it meant to you.”

Mustering her strength, Betty met Veronica’s dark gaze. “I’m sorry we made you feel like your feelings weren’t as important as our love. They are.” She squeezed Veronica’s fingers. “You didn’t deserve to be cheated on, V.”

Their bodies came together like two halves of a book. Only in this moment did Betty realize she’d never allowed Veronica past the final barrier. She’d always keep her from passing into the innermost sanctum of feeling she kept locked within. She’d always, _always_ envied her.

The sound of the door opening wasn’t enough to separate them.

“ _Well._ I’ll just leave these here.” The associate drawled, hanging several dresses onto a rack by the door. “Don’t mind me.”

When she’d gone, renewed laughter broke out between them. This time, it wasn’t wild or harsh. It was the sound of two people who’d been freed.

.+.

Jughead didn’t speak as he swept the glass from beneath her feet. After the glass was gone, he filled a bowl with bleach—hot water and a rag from the sink—and began wiping away the bloody footprints painted across the floor like a macabre, Picasso-esque painting.

“Looks like a crime scene.” Betty’s soft words floated out onto the fraught silence and disappeared like a boat on the horizon.

Jughead said nothing.

Once he’d finished with the blood, he knelt down to inspect her feet. He wasn’t the squeamish-type and yet the numerous cuts in her skin made him grimace. Rummaging through the first aid kit, he pulled out a tiny white square. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.

It was two, pre-packaged acetaminophen tablets. Pain killers.

“I can’t,” Betty said, trying to hand them back.

“What do you mean?” He refused to take them.

“I haven’t been able to swallow pills since the overdose.”

Jughead accepted the pills and tossed them back into the kit. “Why didn’t I know that?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or himself. “I don’t know.”

He went about removing the glass efficiently; with quick, sure hands. His silence was a stark contrast to the murmured conversation she could faintly hear coming from Archie and Veronica. Once he’d finished wrapping her first foot, he finally spoke. “What else don’t I know?”

“You know everything now.” 

Jug shook his head. “No, I don’t. How long?”

“What?”

“How long were you seeing him?” He’d moved onto her other foot.

“We were never _seeing_ each other, Jug.”

“Well then _when_ , Betty, did you happen to sleep with him?”

She swallowed to stall. Hadn’t she had this conversation with him a million times in her head? Hadn’t she practiced what she was going to say? She had. And yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember how she’d planned for this to go. “The night of my Mom’s wedding. And for a few days after… Until Fred found out.”

Jughead squinted at her like he was having trouble seeing the Betty he’d come to know and love. “Let me make sure I have this right. Last November, you… Slept with Archie, got pregnant, had a miscarriage, tried to commit suicide because of said miscarriage, and throughout all of this, failed to mention a single thing to me?”

“Yes. I should have and I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, you are.” He tossed a used alcohol wipe back into the kit and resumed bandaging. “Always have been.”

“ _Jug—_ ”

He wouldn’t even look at her now. “You never gave us a chance to be great. You _always_ kept the door open for him, Betty. Even though he never chose you.” He was crying now. Angry, righteous tears, but tears nonetheless. “I chose you. _I did._ ”

Betty felt like she was floating on a cloud. The adrenaline from the fight had faded, leaving her with heavy limbs and a foggy brain. She heard herself speaking as though from the back row of an auditorium.

“Do you want to know why you haven’t been kept in the loop, Jug?” She met his probing gaze. “Because you don’t pay attention.”

Jughead opened his mouth to respond, but Betty didn’t stop. She continued— _onward_ —almost lackadaisically. “You never paid attention, Jug. If it wasn’t the Serpents, then it was your father. If it wasn’t your father, then it was you. Your novel, your reputation, your feelings. All day. All year. On the phone. Over text. The reason you don’t know me anymore is because you stopped trying to.”

The words felt like a salve. She couldn’t feel her feet anymore.

“So, what?” He placed a strip of tape on her bandage. “Everything is my fault? Because I didn’t give you enough _attention_?”

“ _No,_ ” Betty breathed out. “It’s not your fault because for once it isn’t about you.”

Jughead dropped her foot abruptly. Betty’s heel slammed into one of the cabinet handles, sending shockwaves of pain through her leg.

“ _Ah!_ ” she cried.

“What happened?” Archie yelled from across the living room.

Betty leaned down to clutch at her appendage, which put her face right next to Jughead’s. “Nothing!” she called back.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jughead whispered. “I swear. I just let go. I didn’t think—”

Archie rounded the corner of the island. His feet were bandaged securely. Even though he leaned most of his weight onto his left foot, he didn’t appear to be in a significant amount of pain. “What happened?” he asked again.

“Nothing, Arch. I’m fine.” Betty held up a hand signaling him to stay back. “My foot dropped and hit the drawer. It’s fine.”

Archie’s gaze vacillated between the two. Betty thought he might let the entire thing go, until his gaze settled on Jughead. “Did you let her foot drop?”

Jughead rose to stand. He squared his shoulders and set his brow. “It was an accident. I would never hurt Betty on purpose.”

Archie stepped forward, crowding the smaller boy. “It better have been an accident, Jug.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, no, no, no.” Betty tried climbing down from the island, but as soon as her feet hit the floor, she collapsed onto her knees. She honestly didn’t know how Archie was walking. The pain was incredible. She felt arms hauling her up and looked up to find Archie on one side and Jughead on the other.

“Let’s get you to the living room.”

“I’ve got her.” Jughead tried shifting her weight onto him. “I can help my own girlfriend.”

“She’s not your girlfriend anymore,” Archie said. His voice was pure granite. Unyielding as ice. “She’s my fiancé.”

.+.

The woman seated behind the counter had large pin-curls and wire-frame glasses which threatened to slip off the tip of her nose with every inhale. She reminded Archie of his grandmother.

“Name?”

“Archibald Andrews. Uh—no middle name.”

The keyboard _clacked_ as she typed his details into her old computer “What can I help you with today, sweetheart?”

“I’m here to apply for a marriage license.”

Jolene—according to her nameplate—lowered her head to peer at him over the rim of her glasses. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“How old is _she_?”

“Seventeen.”

Jolene shrugged her shoulders. “I’ve seen younger. Take this.” She slid over a clipboard and a pen. “Fill this out over there. When you’re done, attach your ID and I’ll make a copy. It’ll be twenty-eight dollars today. We do not accept cashier’s checks or credit cards. Only cash. It should take about three days for you to receive your license. When you come back, bring your girlfriend. I’ll need her to provide identification as well before I can give it to you.”

Archie had been nodding along, up to a certain point. “ _Three days?_ ” He hadn’t read that online.

“Three days, honey.” She smiled a saccharine smile. “Let’s hope your marriage lasts as long.”

Archie took the clipboard over to the waiting area. Jughead didn’t bother to look up from the book he was reading.

“Three days, huh?” he said. “Today’s Wednesday. That makes—”

“Saturday,” Archie supplied.

They were meant to return home by Friday. Their original plan included picking up the marriage license, buying clothes, and booking it to the courthouse before five o’clock.

“Which means even if you leave Saturday night, you won’t be back in Riverdale until—”

“Monday.”

Jughead smiled. “That’s _bleak_.”

“No.” Archie lowered his head to focus on the forms which needed filling out. “It’s not. We’ll just make up an excuse.”

“Tell them the resort gave us three extra days because of the storm. Makes absolutely no sense, but—” He flipped his book to another page. “—then again neither does any of this. Let me know if you need help filling out Betty’s information.”

Archie laughed under his breath. “Yeah. Alright, Jug.”

.+.

“ _Fiancé?_ ” Veronica quipped, as they settled Betty onto the couch beside her. “Since when?”

“Since ten hours ago.” Archie took a seat in one of the arm chairs across from them. “We all need to talk.”

Jughead shook his head. “No.”

“We’re stuck here until at least tomorrow. We might as well hash things out.”

Jughead scoffed. “If you think we’re leaving this cabin as friends, you’re even more stupid than I thought.” He walked out of the living room on his uncut feet and disappeared into his suite.

“I’m with Jughead. I don’t see what there is to discuss.” Veronica began inspecting her nails. “Congratulations, I guess. You can have our room. I’ll sleep out here.”

Archie stood. His feet were killing him, but he refused to let that stop him from picking Betty up, carrying her into their room, and lying her down on the bed. He hopped in after her.

“Arch.” Betty pointed at his feet. “You’re bleeding through your bandages.”

He wrapped an arm around her and closed his eyes. “I’ll deal with them later. For now, let’s just sleep.”

.+.

She awoke to three texts from her Alice.

**Mom**

There’s a snowstorm. Are you guys staying inside?

**Mom**

Make sure you stay inside and wear layers. Call me when you see this.

**Mom**

Are you ignoring these texts, Elizabeth???

Betty rolled off of the bed and tentatively onto the floor. The initial pain of walking faded to numbness after a while. She used the restroom, then resolved to make breakfast.

She found him on her way to the kitchen. He’d left the terrace door ajar and a silvery stream of outside air had sliced across her bare calves. She’d pressed her face close to the crack and, peering into the pre-dawn darkness, seen his familiar silhouette leaning against the railing.

“Jug?”

She pushed the sliding-glass door until the crack was wide enough for her to step through. Pure ice enveloped her body. After her night in the woods, the cold didn’t affect her the same. She wasn’t capable of feeling _chilly_ anymore. There was only _fine_ and _freezing_. Pulling her complimentary Maple Valley robe tighter around herself didn’t help.

“What are you doing? It’s cold out here.”

He wouldn’t turn around. “Isn’t this what you do?”

“What do you mean?”

As soon as he cleared his throat, she knew he’d been crying.

“Isn’t this how you solve your problems? You walk out into the snow and _wait_. Either for someone to find you or to die…”

Betty walked over and leaned her body onto the rail next to his. “That does seem to be my _modus operandi_. Yes.”

For several moments, they stood amidst swirling currents of frigid air, breathing together. Betty couldn’t see his face and he couldn’t see hers. Their near-blindness made things easier. Somehow.

“We were good once,” Jughead said. “That’s not just my imagination?”

“We were good.” Betty tried to keep her teeth from chattering and failed. “Once.”

“Do you remember… Do you remember the first weekend you spent at the trailer?” His brittle laugh bit through the somber mood. “Alice was going _insane_ so you put your phone in the refrigerator. We drank all my dad’s beer and watched The X-Files.” He could see the glow from the television. The empty Miller Light cans stacked on the floor. The strange configuration of their limbs as they lied practically on top of one another.

“I remember.”

He hung his head. “You’re the first girl I ever loved.” The words didn’t want to come out of their own volition. He had to force them out and, when he did, they sounded like they’d put through a strainer. “ _I don’t wanna lose you._ ”

Betty hadn’t seen this side of him in a long time. Not since he went into foster care. Leaving the railing, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed him tight. His arms instinctively returned the hug.

She couldn’t promise him he wouldn’t lose her. He already _had_. But, for a moment, she could hold him.

“We’ll be okay, Jug.”

Betty felt her strength ebb. She’d long since surpassed her threshold for cold. Her knees gave out suddenly and Jughead became the only thing supporting her.

“ _Woah._ ”

Recognizing her incapacity, he helped her back to the sliding door. As soon as they were inside, her body responded to the warmth. Her limbs unclenched and she was able to hold her own weight again. Leaning against the wall, she watched him shut the door.

Several feet away, Veronica laid sleeping on the couch. Betty kept her voice low.

“You’re one of my best friends. We weren’t right for each other. We _weren’t_ … but I still love you.”

He ran a hand across his wet face. “So that’s it? You’re going to be with _him_?”

“If I can,” she said. “I’m gonna try.”

“What?” He came away from the door.

“Fred gave Archie an ultimatum. He said he’d kick him out if we stayed together. Said my mom would send me to The Sisters of Quiet Mercy.” Betty shook her head. “You know she would.”

“ _What?_ ” This time, his entire countenance changed. The lightening sky outside cast a bluish-grey pallor over his furrowed features. This was the Jughead she’d fallen in love with. The one who raised his middle finger to the powers that be. “I’m never letting that happen.”

Betty met his eye. “Neither am I.”

.+.

They gathered in the living room as soon as Archie woke up. Betty had managed to cobble together a scant breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. Jughead stood by the island, eating, while Veronica sat primly on the blankets she’d slept under.

Leaning forward in one of the leather armchairs, Archie gestured between himself and Betty. “We need your help,” he said. “We can’t go home until we’re married.”

Veronica craned her neck. “Here we go with the melodramatics…”

“Just listen,” Jughead said.

She rolled her eyes, but allowed Archie to continue.

“We don’t expect anything from either of you. You don’t owe us anything. But the simple fact of the matter is… If our parents find out we’re together, I might have to move away. And Betty might end up in some _messed up_ convent full of sadistic nuns. And this friendship—or _whatever_ it is we have going on here—will be even more finished than it already is.” Archie cleared his throat. “If we get married, no one can take us away from each other. She’ll have power of attorney over me and vice versa. Meaning, if push comes to shove, I’d legally be able to check her out of the convent.”

The room was quiet as Veronica digested this information.

“I’m aware of the logistics.” She’d been awake when Betty and Jughead had their discussion that morning. “I just don’t see how I come into this.”

“We need two witnesses,” Betty said. Her gaze flickered between Jughead and Veronica.

Veronica turned to face Jug. “Are you in on this?”

He shrugged. “I agreed to go.”

“Go _where_?”

“Mississippi,” Archie answered. “It’s the only state that allows seventeen-year-olds to marry without their parent’s approval. We just need a marriage license and two witnesses. That’s it.”

Veronica stood up from the couch. Her initial unsteadiness propelled Jughead from his position by the counter. “I can stand,” she said. “I need to pack. My car comes to pick me up at one.”

“Veronica—” Betty started.

Archie caught her eye and shook his head. “We asked. That’s all we can do.”

By then, Veronica had already left the room.

.+.

She watched from the front step as Smithers Jr. loaded her bags into the town car. The front door to the cabin opened behind her with a _click_.

“You’re actually leaving?” Jughead came to stand beside her.

“What does it look like?” she asked, pulling on a pair of black leather gloves. “I’m done.”

Jughead nodded. “Me too.”

Veronica shot him a glance out of the corner of her eye. “Then why are you going?”

“I love her.”

“Still? _Why?_ ”

He shrugged. “She’s Betty.”

Veronica couldn’t understand these boys’ fascination with Elizabeth Cooper. Was it her girl-next-door purity or her broken bird feebleness? Veronica, for all her wiles, couldn’t—nor did she have the desire to—mimic either trait.

“Good luck with that.”

Smithers Jr. shut the trunk. “Ready, Ms. Lodge?”

“Yes. Thank you, SJ.” She tied the tassels to her suede pea coat and sank her high-heeled boots into the thick snow.

“What about our kiss?”

Veronica halted. Turning her head to the side, she asked: “What about it?”

“Was it just because you wanted revenge? Or…?”

Her eyes followed him as he descended the steps after her.

“Are you serious?” She smiled her sharp smile. “I was drunk.”

“Which still doesn’t answer my question.” Jughead came to stand directly in front of her.

“Revenge. Retribution. Vengeance. How else can I say it?” She stepped back to stare into his eyes. “Why? Did you want it to mean something?”

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them again. A playful smile—nothing like hers—pulled at his lips. “Do Marlowe and Vivian end up together?”

“Not in _The Big Sleep_ —no—but everyone knows Bogie ended up with Bacall.” Veronica glanced at her wristwatch. “That won’t be us. We’re barely even friends. Now, I have to go.”

“Wait.” Jughead worried lip. He seemed to know already what he was going to say.

“Spit it out, Jones.”

He eyed Smithers Jr., then sighed. “Leave here. Try to forget this trip. Go back to your penthouse apartment and cut up every photo of Archie you own. In a year, you’ll go to college in the city and you’ll make new friends. I’ve no doubt. Riverdale will become just another pit stop along the highway of your glorious life. You’ll look back on the time you spent with Archie and you’ll wonder why you even entertained the idea of ending up with a small-town jock like him.”

Jughead paused. “By then, he’ll have spent his last year of high school in Chicago and Betty will have lost her mind in a convent.”

“That’s not _my_ responsibility.” Frustrated tears blurred Veronica’s vision. He’d taken her somewhere with his words. Somewhere she didn’t want to go.

“It is and it isn’t. They hurt us, Veronica. I’m as angry as you are, but… This is the choice we’re left with. You can leave. Take your revenge. I’m sure it’ll feel wonderful,” he said. “The problem is you’re not your father. And one day, in the near future, you will wake up and you will regret having left.”

Side-stepping him, she made a mad dash for the car. “Take care of Betty until you’re blue in face. She’ll never love you like she loves him.”

Smithers Jr. opened the door for her. “Ma’am.”

“I said what I said for you, V.” Jughead’s voice made its way to her, even with the door shut.

Smithers Jr. managed to reach the Maple Valley entrance sign before she told him to turn the car around.

.+.

The drive from Vermont to Mississippi takes roughly twenty-two and a half hours. They’d strapped Jughead’s motorcycle to the hood of Archie’s jalopy and worked out a four-hour driving split between them. Minus Veronica, who didn’t have a license.

Archie took the first stint through New York state and Pennsylvania. They’d stopped on the border of West Virginia to buy snacks and use the restroom. At nine p.m., the only place open on their route was a self-service gas station between two stretches of farmland. The “bathroom” of which was in fact a concrete box separate from the actual store. And there was only the one.

“Stand guard for each other.” Archie handed Betty the keys. “We’ll go around back. Head straight for the car when you’re done and remember to—”

“Lock the doors?” She suppressed a laugh. “I know, _Fred_.”

They’d just rounded the corner of the building when Archie felt a force slam into his right shoulder, causing him to fall to the ground.

He scrambled to find his bearings.

“Jug?”

“Get up.”

Archie stood. He could barely see Jug without the light from the gas station. “What are you doing?”

“What I should’ve done when I found out.” His hands connected with Archie’s chest, forcing him backwards. “Come on.”

“No.” Archie allowed himself to be pushed again. “There’s no reason for this.”

“No reason?” Jughead shoved him again—harder this time—and Archie stumbled. “You slept with my girlfriend! You lied to my face!”

He went to swing but Archie ducked just in time. Using Jughead’s momentum against him, he swiped his foot and sent him sailing into the dirt. Archie didn’t expect Jughead to pull him own foot out from under him, however. Once both boys were on the ground, they tussled for the upper hand.

“ _Stop,_ ” Archie gritted through his teeth.

Jughead managed to land two solid punches to his side before Archie remembered an illegal wrestling move he’d learned in middle school. Pressing his weight into his thighs, he performed a half-jump and landed on Jughead’s back. His arms wrapped around Jughead’s collar. Archie allowed himself to fall backwards, onto the ground, bringing Jughead down on top of him. He then crossed his legs over Jug’s, effectively immobilizing them.

Jughead let out a dry cough.

“You have to stop.” Archie panted between each word. “Please.”

“You were supposed to be my friend,” Jughead croaked.

It’s what he’d said on the mountain. For Archie, the betrayal never felt so black-and-white.

“I am your friend.”

“You’re not!” Jughead struggled against his grip. “You knew I loved her!”

Archie fought to keep ahold of him. “ _So did you._ ”

Jug went still. “Let go.”

They couldn’t stay locked in a death grip forever, so Archie complied, fully expecting Jughead to return to their fight. Instead, the other boy merely sat up.

“You had your chance. You didn’t choose her.”

He posed his statements like they were evidence in a court of law. Archie couldn’t have argued against them, even if he’d wanted to.

“Biggest mistake of my life,” he admitted.

Jughead rolled onto his knees and climbed back onto his feet. “You’d better treat her right, because I’ll be waiting in the wings. The minute you mess up—”

“I won’t.” Archie stood to face him. “I’m sorry for imposing on your relationship. I’m sorry for hurting you, Jug. This is the last time I’ll _ever_ apologize for being with Betty, so I hope you believe me.”

Jughead brushed himself off. “I believe you. Apology not accepted. If you’ll excuse me. I’m up next and I need to empty my bladder.”

Archie huffed. It was going to be a long drive.

.+.

“We’re supposed to sleep in separate beds the night before the wedding.” Betty had no real desire to be apart from him. Lying face-to-face on their twin-sized mattress, there was already too much space between them.

“If everything goes to plan—” Archie’s breath ghosted across the skin of her cheek. “—we’ll spend every night of the rest of our lives just like this.”

“Does it feel daunting yet?”

“No. You?” he asked.

“Can’t say it does.”

He’d spent Friday afternoon searching through racks of discount tuxes in an outlet mall two towns over. The three-piece set he’d found—for “ _only sixty-five dollars_ ”—was at least one size too small and smelled faintly of petrol.

“What are you thinking about?”

Betty hummed. “Are our parents the only reason we’re getting married?”

She’d had to turn off her phone because of her mother’s constant calls and texts.

Drawing back, he eyed her warily. “They’re the reason we’re getting married _right now_ , but they’re not the _only_ reason. I’ve wanted to marry you since I was six years old, Betts. You know that.” 

She blinked twice. “Are you’re sure you won’t get sick of me?”

Sitting up, he switched on the lamp on the bedside table. “Where is this coming from?”

Betty rubbed at her eyes— _stupid things_ —hoping to rid them of their wetness before he saw.

“Betty.”

“I don’t know, Arch. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just…”

“What?”

“Scared.”

“We don’t have to get married, Betty. We can find another way—”

“No!” She sat up quickly. “I want to marry you. I do. I’m not getting cold feet. I’m just thinking about things.”

Archie nodded along. “What things?”

Betty tilted her head back onto the peeling wallpaper. “We’re so young. We haven’t even graduated high school yet, Arch. You’ll be a freshman in college and married.”

“Can’t wait.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He waited for her response, but when she didn’t continue, asked: “What’s the real problem? You can tell me. Whatever it is.”

Betty felt his hands come to rest atop hers. She’d been clenching her fists.

“I’m scared forever isn’t forever. I’m scared something is going to come between us again. I keep remembering what you said. About not being good enough. About us never being together… I’m just worried there’s always going to be something in the way.”

She’d watched him fall in love with Veronica. The instant the flip switched and the lights went out on her childish dreams, she’d been there to see his pupils dilate. She’d felt him pull away to appease his father. She’d lived down the hall from him while pregnant with his baby. Theirs had not been an easy love and Betty didn’t expect _easy_. She only wanted reassurance he’d stay when things were _hard_. 

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes.” He pulled her hands into his lap to rub them tenderly. “I’ve acted like a dumb boy when I should’ve been a man and I’ve hurt you when that’s the last thing I would ever want to do. I can’t promise you nothing will get in our way, Betts. In fact, I’m sure something will. A person. A circumstance. Our parents.” He shook his head. “But I can promise you that whatever tries to break us will not succeed. I won’t let it. From now on, I’m always going to fight for us.”

Throwing back the covers, Betty maneuvered herself onto his lap. She took his face between her hands and stared into his eyes. “I’m always going to fight for us too.”

Archie leaned forward and caught her lips. His hands explored her body, his well-acquainted fingers finding pleasure in the familiar terrain. She drew his lip between her teeth. He groaned and pulled away. “We shouldn’t.”

Betty pulled off his oversized t-shirt. “Screw tradition. We’ve already done everything else backwards. I want you.”

Archie took his que from her. As she kissed along his jaw, he reached over and turned off the lamp.

.+.

Jughead hadn’t been asleep when three sharp knocks roused him from his bed.

“What do you want?” The words were out of his mouth before the door was fully open. Once he’d brushed the hair out of his eyes, he regretted using his _fuck you_ tone.

Veronica stood below the yellow hall light in a black nightie, a sleep mask, and feathered slippers. She hugged her pillow to her chest and her eyes were wide.

“There’s a cockroach the size of a water bottle in my room.”

“A _water bottle_?” Jughead asked.

“I’m not kidding. Can I sleep here?”

He pretended to think for a moment. “What’s wrong with the backseat of Archie’s car?”

“I will beat you within an inch of your life if you don’t let me in.” Her otherwise ferocious gaze flitted across the floor. “Please.”

Jughead stepped aside. How could he refuse?

Once inside, Veronica returned to business as usual. “I’ll take the bed,” she said.

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I won’t be the one to sleep on the floor, will I?” She grabbed the cheap motel pillow and replaced it with her own. “Only one of us needs to look good for the wedding tomorrow and that’s the bridesmaid.”

Jughead laughed. He hopped onto the bed before she could sit down. “You don’t get enough credit for being funny.”

Veronica sighed. “Fine. I’ll take the left. You take the right. Beware,” she said. “I kick in my sleep.”

“And I debate Plato’s theory of forms in mine. Tonight should be interesting.”

She laid on her side, facing away from him. “You get entirely too much credit for being funny. Goodnight.”

Jughead smirked and turned off the light. Within a few minutes, it became clear they wouldn’t be able to sleep. The sound of Betty and Archie’s _coupling_ was bleeding through the walls.

“Are they serious?” Veronica muttered, slipping her eye mask back onto her forehead.

Jughead flipped over. “They sound serious.”

“How did we end up here?”

“General misfortune?” He offered. “We killed someone in a past life?”

Veronica sniffed. “I can’t see any of my past selves killing anyone. You on the other hand…”

“You’re right. More likely, you were an aristocrat in France during The Reign of Terror. _Down with bourgeoisie._ ”

“Are you saying I was beheaded?”

“If the guillotine fits…”

Veronica erupted into a sudden fit a giggles. The bed shook with her.

“It wasn’t that funny.”

“It was,” she replied. “Or maybe I’m really tired.”

“Go to sleep then.”

“I would if I could.” She flipped over and they came face-to-face in the dark. “This entire situation is a case study.”

“Do you regret coming?” Truthfully, he still felt a bit bad for the way he’d convinced her.

“No.” Veronica pursed her lips. “Here’s something you’ll never hear me say again. You were right, Jones.”

“Sorry, what?”

“You heard me.”

“I didn’t. They’re fucking so loud—”

“I’m not saying it again.”

Jughead chuckled under his breath. “Well, I’m glad you came.”

“You are?”

“Definitely.” He was silent for a moment. “I couldn’t have done this alone. You’re the only other person who knows… Who feels exactly like I do.”

Veronica nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“Would it be weird if I kissed you?” His mouth spoke before his brain approved the words. “I kind of want to.”

“No weirder than you asking,” she replied, completely unfazed.

“If I kiss you now, you won’t be able to claim it’s because you were drunk or it was for revenge.”

“If you do a good job, I won’t be able to claim anything.”

In one fell swoop, Jughead found her lips in the dark. He wasn’t afraid. This time, no tendril of fear wrapping around his heart and impaired the matter at hand. There was only the soft skin of her lips and his own curiosity.

Veronica pushed her body closer until they were touching from their belly buttons to their toes. Her fingers twisted in his hair and, before she knew what she was doing, she’d begun pulling.

Jughead broke their kiss with a gasp. “What?”

She licked her lips. “Nothing. Why’d you stop?”

“You were pulling my hair. I thought you wanted me to,” he said. “Did you not want me to stop?”

She could hear the challenge in his voice—as well as the charged undercurrent of desire—but for once she didn’t offer a scathing retort in reply. Instead…

“Keep going.”

.+.

Jolene placed Betty’s ID under her nose. She peered back and forth between the photo and the flesh-and-blood girl standing in front of her. “ _Hmm._ You look nice, dear.”

Betty had chosen a full-length gown. Bands of white tulle girded a satin underbodice. Pink cherry blossom petals embroidered along the bottom hem appeared as though they’d been swept up by a strong wind and strewn there haphazardly. Using secret knowledge and no fewer than thirty-five bobby pins, Veronica had styled her hair into an ornate knot, with wispy strands framing her flushed face. She’d caught sight of herself in the window of the jalopy that morning. She looked like Alice.

“Thank you.” Betty took back her ID.

“He seems like a good one.” Jolene stared past her, into the waiting room.

Betty didn’t need to turn around to know Archie would be standing with his hands in the pockets of his tux, conversing with Jug. “He is.”

“Wait thirty years and get back to me.” Jolene slid over the marriage license. “Good luck, honey.”

.+.

The Fulton County Courthouse was small. The ceremonies’ room resided off to the side—away from the courtrooms—between a leaky water fountain and the women’s restroom. Betty stood by the door, waiting for the officiant who would lead her down the aisle.

Veronica tapped her heel twice on the linoleum floor. “There’s still time to make a run for it.”

Lost in thought, Betty barely heard her.

“No,” she sighed. “You wouldn’t, would you?”

Betty looked up. “What?”

“What are you thinking about right now?”

She’d been reliving the hours after her father was taken into custody. The hours she and her mother had spent standing on the front lawn as officers raided their home, like ants, carrying their belongings out in clear plastic bags. The hours in which the daylight had waned only to be replaced by blue and red. The hours which had felt like days. Until Fred and Archie showed up.

She’d thought he would be angry. If not angry, then indignant. If not indignant, then at least _curious_. Her father was the Black Hood. A menace among men. The boogey of their quiet town. The greatest threat Archie had ever come up against in his young life. She’d thought he would look at her differently. He hadn’t. He’d merely walked up the steps and—without breaking his stride—enveloped her in his arms. As though he could protect her from the chaos swirling around them with his own body.

“Never mind. She’s here.” Veronica stepped back to allow the officiant through.

“You ready—?” The middle-aged woman looked down at the certificate in her hand. “Elizabeth?”

“I am.”

.+.

“Here.” Jughead held out a folded napkin he’d pulled from the back pocket of his jeans. “It was supposed to be for Betty, but… You’re sweating profusely. You know that, right?”

Archie took the napkin and dabbed at his forehead. The thin paper came away wet.

“Distract me,” he said.

Jughead rocked back on his heels. “What?”

“Tell me something. Anything.” Archie spent the better part of the morning drilling himself to remember his vows. Now, he needed to forget them. “Just talk like you normally do.”

“Uh— _okay_. We passed eleven ‘Jesus Loves You, Confess Your Sin’ signs on the way here. Gotta tell you, as an atheist, they just about touched my nonexistent soul. The fried alligator we had for dinner two nights ago? Still swimming around in my GI tract. I have a _rash_ from the motel sheets. I would say I’m allergic to the softener they use, but they definitely don’t use softener.”

“Keep going.” Archie nodded. “It’s working.”

“I’m glad my suffering is providing an adequate distraction.” Jughead shook his head. “You’re lucky I’m even here.”

They stood beside a wooden podium. It was noon. Bright swaths of light poured in from tall, thin windows and crisscrossed across the floor. Two dozen empty chairs had been placed between the podium and the door. A cleared path divided them in half. In a moment, she would walk down that path, straight to him.

“You have nothing to be nervous about. Betty—” The door knob turned. Jughead hesitated. “Has always loved you,” he finished lowly.

The officiant—a stout, blonde-haired woman—ushered her through the door. Archie felt his entire body go still. Color bled from the atmosphere until her blush was the only red, her hair was the only gold, and the petals on her dress were the only pink. As she walked, sunlight slipped across her bare arms, making geometric shapes appear and disappear on her skin. She kept her gaze on the floor.

Archie breathed deep.

The officiant took her position behind the podium. Betty took her position facing Archie. Though she wasn’t ready, her eyes abandoned his discount dress shoes to travel up the lean line of his body. Before long, they reached his face. His handsome, shining face.

 _Hey_ , he mouthed.

She smiled back. _Hey_.

“We are gathered here today, on the 19th of March, to witness the union of Archibald Andrews and Elizabeth Caroline Cooper in holy matrimony. You both have chosen to write your vows. It is with these words you declare your intent to love, honor, and cherish one another. If you are ready to make these promises, I invite each of you to do so now.” Turning to Archie, she said: “Archibald, when you’re ready you may begin.”

The paper in his jacket pocket was burning a hole through the fabric. When they were home again, he’d frame the scrap on which he’d scribbled his vows, but right now he didn’t want to look at a piece of paper. He wanted to look at her.

“Betty.” He’d barely begun when his voice cracked. “ _Betts._ We’ve been through a lot together, haven’t we?”

She bit her lip. Without knowing what he was about to say, preemptive tears had already sprung into her eyes.

“You are,” he continued, “the _strongest_ person I know. You’re also the _kindest_ person I know. Those two traits don’t always come in tandem, but you have them in spades. Since I was six years old, you’ve been a better friend to me than I had any right to ever hope. How could I know, when I moved into the house next door, you would become my future wife?”

Archie cleared his throat. “A part of me still believes I don’t deserve you. Because you are, in my estimate, as perfect as any human being can be. That said, I will not stop working until I become a man worthy of someone like you. I vow to take care of you in sickness and in health. I vow to cherish you as much as, if not more than, my guitar.”

A smile broke through his stormy gaze and pierced her heart directly.

“Above all, I promise to love you with every ounce of my body.”

A brief pause followed his declaration.

The officiant, realizing he was done, smiled. “Elizabeth, when you’re ready you may begin.”

Betty, in a show of uncharacteristic defiance, hadn’t prepared her vows beforehand. She’d sat down to do so and a decade’s worth of unsaid confessions had floated to the surface, nearly overwhelming her. She could only speak from the heart now.

“ _Arch._ There’s no reason as to why I love you the way I do. Sometimes, my love for you feels like this separate thing. Like something comes over me… And sometimes, it feels like it’s in my bones… I guess what I’m trying to say is: _You make me who I am._ Betty Cooper wouldn’t exist without Archie Andrews. I don’t imagine myself anywhere, doing anything, without you.”

Her tears trailed down her neck and collected in the hollow of her collarbone. Betty was glad she’d fought Veronica on whether to wear makeup.

“ _I’m not perfect,_ ” she cried. “I’ve made mistakes. Mistakes that hurt people.” Her gaze flickered to Jughead. “Mistakes that hurt you, Arch. I vow not to make those mistakes again. I vow to be honest, even when it’s hard. Above all, I promise to always let you in.”

The officiant held out her hand. “May I have the rings?”

Archie blinked. He’d nearly forgotten they weren’t alone. “We don’t have rings. Yet,” he said. “Sorry.”

“That’s fine. We’ll continue on without them.” The officiant looked out over the empty room. “If anyone has any reason as to why these two should not be yoked together in marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Jughead met Veronica’s gaze. As always, she offered a contest. He opened his mouth—as though to speak—and her eyes blew wide.

He coughed into his hand.

“Well, then. By the power vested in me by the state of Mississippi, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The officiant stepped away from the podium. “You may kiss the bride.”

Archie stepped forward and pull her to him by her waist. Betty leaned her full weight onto him and tilted her head back.

“ _Mrs. Elizabeth Andrews_ ,” he whispered, just before his lips pressed against hers.

.+.

The four of them stood together on the courthouse steps, looking like they’d just come from prom. The sun had gone—disappeared behind angry clouds—and a brisk wind ripped at their clothing.

“Where to now?” Veronica asked. “This can’t be all. That was barely a wedding.”

“ _Ronnie._ ” Archie pulled off his suit jacket and hung it over Betty’s shoulders.

“What? No offense. I’m happy for you two. It’s just I’ve literally been to a four-million-dollar wedding in Belize.”

“I saw a dock by the motel. I’d say we pick up a few six packs and hang out there, but…” Archie glanced up at the sky.

Jughead clapped him on the back. “You guys go ahead. I’m going to hit the road.”

“What?” Betty asked. “You’re leaving, Jug?”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. It’s time for me to go home,” he said. “My novel’s not going to finish itself.”

“Okay…” Sidestepping Archie, she hugged him goodbye. “Be safe.”

Jughead relished the feeling of her in his arms. It was strange not knowing when, or even if, he’d have the opportunity to do so again. When he finally let go, Jughead felt something break off of him.

Turning to Veronica, he asked, “Can we talk?”

“Sure.” They walked a few feet away. “Already regretting your decision not to say anything?”

“Nope.” Jughead halted. “Are you?”

Veronica laughed, which was enough of an answer for her.

“I was thinking… Maybe you’d want to ride back on my bike?” With his hands in his pockets and his curls hanging in front of his eyes—asking a pretty girl to ride on the back of his motorcycle—Jughead had never felt more like his father.

“ _Hmm._ Do I want to freeze? Do I want helmet hair? Do I want my butt to go numb? Let me think.”

“I forgot I was talking to the Princess.” Jug nodded. “Have fun riding back with the newlyweds.”

He made to leave. Veronica stepped in front of him.

“Mandatory breaks every hour,” she said.

“We’ll never make it to Riverdale at that rate.”

“Tough. Take it or leave it.”

Jughead suppressed a smile. “I’ll take it.”

.+.

Archie’s arms encased her body from behind. The sky—like the seam of an overstuffed bean bag—threatened to split open and send forth torrents of rain. “We should head out soon.”

“Think there’s something going on there?” Betty asked, observing Jughead and Veronica from the corner of her eye.

Archie glanced over his shoulder. “Maybe. I hope so.” He rocked her body to one side and buried his face in her neck, kissing the skin there.

Betty let loose an astonished giggle and closed her eyes. She was high. Pure, unadulterated joy had leaked into her bloodstream. “Me too.”

Archie was just glad to be able to love her in public now.

“ _Elizabeth!_ ”

Betty’s eyes popped open.

“ _Mom?_ ”

Alice Cooper marched up the courthouse steps, followed by Fred. Archie’s father ascended the stairs at a measured pace. Soon, both came to stand on the raised platform.

“Dad.” Archie released Betty, in favor of holding her by the hand.

“Son.” Fred inclined his head. “Betty.”

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” Betty didn’t look away from her mother.

Alice’s serpentine gaze slid down her dress with displeasure. She held up two envelopes. “You may be able to marry without our permission, but the parents of minors are still notified. You thought this would be your little secret, did you?” Alice at clutched her forearm. “You are _seventeen years old_. This is not happening. We’re going home.”

Betty yanked her arm from her mother’s grasp. “You’re too late.”

Fred glanced at his son. “You’re married?”

Archie met his father’s eye without hesitation. “Yes.”

Alice’s hand _cracked_ against Betty cheek. There was no warning—just a flash of motion. Fred pulled her away as quick as he could, but the damage was already done. Betty clutched at her cheek. The immediate sting settled into a dull wash of pain over the right side of her face. Her skin was probably marked.

Jughead was the first to arrive—breathing heavily—trailed by Veronica.

“Betty, are you okay?” Veronica asked.

“I’m—”

Archie dropped her hand and moved himself to stand between her and their parents. “This is my fault. Don’t take it out on Betty.”

“I don’t want to hear _a word_ from you. You corrupted my daughter.”

“Don’t speak to my son that way, Alice.” Fred held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Emotions are high right now. We all need to calm—”

“And you!” Alice narrowed her eyes are him. “I can’t get over the fact that you knew about this.” She pointed between their children. “You allowed this to become a problem.”

“I did what I thought was best,” he explained.

“Look how well that turned out!”

The sky burst open and a deluge of rain slapped down against the paved steps.

“Dad.” Archie made his voice louder to compete with the sound. “This girl—this girl _right here_ —” He reached back and took Betty’s hand again. “Is the love of my life. And, when I said my vows, she became my wife. Do you know what that means?”

As Archie repurposed his own words, Fred lowered his brows over his eyes. “What, son?”

“It means no matter what happens to me, I’m never gonna leave her.”

Alice rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I will not endure one more minute of this nonsense. Betty, come with me. Right now.”

Archie felt Betty let go of his hand. He spun around. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going with her, Arch. I need to do this.”

The little ridge between her eyebrows had cropped up. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to change her mind. But, having seen her mother slap her across the face, he had to try.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “We should stay together.”

She could hear the desperation—the fear, potent and primal—rumbling in his voice.

“I said I would fight for us.” She caressed his cheek. “Trust me.”

Betty untangled herself from him. Once she saw her coming, her mother turned and began her descent into the bruising rain.

Archie couldn’t stop his body from wanting to follow.

His father placed a light hand on the center of his chest. “If there’s any hope of this being okay, she needs to speak with her.”

The looks on his friends’ faces weren’t encouraging or discouraging. Jughead still seemed to be fuming, while the corners of Veronica’s mouth had drawn down with pity.

In a split second of clarity, Archie circumvented his father. He burst into a sprint and, taking the steps two at a time, caught up to her quickly.

“Wait,” he huffed.

Betty turned. Before she could blink the rain from her eyes, Archie had her face between his palms and he was kissing her. Slow and methodical. Like they’d never kissed before and never would kiss again. Like they’d kissed one-thousand times and this was time one-thousand and one. Like they’d just met. Like they were strangers. He kissed her for every occasion. He kissed her like death was just around the corner. Like he’d just come back from war. He kissed her long and hard, but there was nothing brutal about it.

If she’d thought she loved him as much as she was capable of loving him _before_ , she was wrong. The seed of love she’d planted ages ago was no longer a sapling. It had become a tree. A tree whose leaves reached towards the sun with ever-increasing hunger for the light.

They broke apart.

“I’ll see you at home,” he whispered.

.+.

“I can’t believe you would do something like this.”

Her mother’s pale, slender fingers gripped the steering wheel. They hadn’t left the parking lot yet. Condensation collected on the windshield, blurring the outside world. Betty couldn’t see Archie, his car, or their friends. She couldn’t even see the courthouse steps anymore.

“I never would’ve expected this from you. Polly—maybe—but not you, Elizabeth.”

How similar Betty and Polly truly were—how close they’d come to sharing the same story—her mother had no idea.

Alice turned on the wipers and pulled the car into reverse. “When we get back to Riverdale, we’re having this marriage annulled.”

A jolt of anxiety pushed Betty to finally speak. “No.”

“Yes, Elizabeth. And you’re going back on your medication.”

“ _No_ , I’m not.” Her words eked out in spurts, like blood. “I’m not medicating myself because you don’t agree with my choices.”

“Your choices?!” Alice shrieked. “You married your step-brother, Betty!”

“And you married a serial killer.”

Her mother’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Then you married my best friend’s father.” Betty unwound her fists by sheer force of will. She didn’t _deserve_ pain, self-inflicted or otherwise. “If my marriage can be annulled like it’s nothing, then why does your marriage to Fred make Archie and I family?”

Once again, her mother floundered to respond. “Because—”

“Because why, Mom? Because it’s yours? Because you beat us to alter? Because you can’t _fathom_ I might love someone the way you loved Fred when you were seventeen?”

The rain made for a tough drive. Alice didn’t take her gaze off of the road.

“I need to focus right now. We can speak about this later.”

.+.

They’d just passed the Tennessee-Kentucky border. Archie, with his head pressed against the door, was on the edge of sleep.

“Why’d you do it?” Fred’s voice was low enough to blend in with the soft rock issuing from the car speakers. He hadn’t spoken since they’d left Fulton. 

“You know why.”

“I want to hear you explain.”

Archie sat up in his seat. The highway was mostly empty. Their headlights cut a corridor through the darkness.

“Can I be honest?”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Archie stared out of the window and wondered where Betty was amongst the black. He hoped she and Alice had stopped somewhere—a hotel or one of those nice rest stops—and they weren’t still driving.

“I found Betty, at little while ago, in our bathroom at house. She’d overdosed on pills.”

His father glance over at him from the corner of his eye. “When was this?”

“January 31st.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I was afraid,” Archie admitted. “I thought you and Alice would send her away. I wanted her to have the help she needed, but I didn’t want to lose her.”

Fred nodded.

“Nothing was happening between us then. I kept my promise to you. I broke things of with her and we didn’t talk. For months…”

“Son?” His father’s voice was far away now.

“She was pregnant, Dad.”

Fred slowed down the car and pulled onto the shoulder of the road.

“She was _what_?”

“She was pregnant.” Archie shook his head. Everything was muddled. The details blended together, diluted each other. He needed to be clear for his father to understand. “Or, she _was_ pregnant. Last year, after the wedding, we didn’t use protection.”

“What do I always say?”

“I know, Dad. I know. But…” Archie glanced down at his idle hands. “She lost the baby. Christmas Day.”

Fred hung his head.

“She didn’t tell anyone. Not even me, after I found her.” For a moment, Archie was back on the ski lift. “I found out at the resort. After she told Veronica.”

“So, Betty’s not pregnant?”

It felt strange to say. “No.”

“Where does marriage play into this?”

Archie shrugged. He didn’t have an exact answer. “Why do people get married? To support each other. I made a promise to you I couldn’t keep—a promise I shouldn’t have tried to keep—and because of that, Betty was alone when she needed me the most. I don’t want her to ever suffer like that again.”

“You’re young, son. Marriage is a lot of things you can’t understand yet.”

“Then I’ll learn. I’ll learn, Dad. I don’t care what anyone says. I love her.” Archie managed to lock eyes with his father in the dark. “Are you going to teach us or are we on our own?”

His father looked away. “I don’t know yet, Arch.”

Gravel _crackled_ beneath the tires as Fred pulled back onto the road.

.+.

Alice drove like a madwoman—only stopping for energy drinks and bathroom breaks—which meant Betty had been home for several hours when she heard them pull into the drive. She watched from her window as they parked Archie’s jalopy on street.

He took twenty minutes to unload the ski gear from the trunk and haul their bags inside. Then, leaving his father in the kitchen, he’d hurried up the stairs.

_Knock, knock._

Her door swung open.

Betty jumped onto him, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“I missed you.”

He rubbed his hands down her back.

“I missed you, too.”

.+.

_One Month Later_

“How’s it going under there?” Betty asked.

Archie held out a wrench, which she accepted and tossed into the toolbox beside her. Half of his body was hidden beneath the jacked-up frame of an icy-blue, 1997 Cadillac Deville. They were in the garage of Fred’s old house. Their new home.

After three weeks of negotiations and Fred threatening separation, they’d succeeded in talking Alice down from her metaphorical ledge. She’d dropped the idea of an annulment and ceased pressuring Betty to resume taking her anxiety medication, but she would not stand being the talk of the town. Betty and Archie living in the same house as their married parents was still out of the question.

Fred was the one to suggest the empty house next door.

With summer around the corner, they’d dreamt up a number of things they might do together. Archie would work construction with his father during the week, but they could take weekend trips to the beach. They could drive down the coast. They could stay at a bed and breakfast. They’d yet to have a proper honeymoon.

“Not too well. Something’s leaking that’s definitely not supposed to be leaking.” Archie held out his hand. “ _Rag._ ”

Betty placed the test onto his palm.

“Thank you— _wait_. This isn’t…” Archie slid out from under the car and held the piece of plastic up to his face.

He looked at Betty. He looked at the test. He looked at Betty. “This is—”

“Real,” she supplied.

“You’re—”

“Pregnant.” She nodded. “Again.”

“But we’ve—” Archie racked his brain, searching for a time they hadn’t used protection since the first time. 

Betty held up her hands. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“Tell me…” Archie stood and took her into his arms. He swayed with her in time to the music oozing from the record player. “How we’re feeling. Happy? Sad? Somewhere in between?”

Betty leaned her head onto his shoulder. “Doesn’t feel real.”

And it probably wouldn’t feel real for a while. Not until six weeks, at least.

“ _Ah_ ,” he sighed. “Denial.”

Betty laughed and slapped his side.

“Let me tell you something.” Archie paused. She’d given him her journal to read, so he could understand what she’d been through. He tried to remember precisely what he’d read on those pages. What she would’ve liked for him to say, when the moment came before. “We’re in this together. You’re not alone, Betts. Whatever you want to do, we’ll figure out a way. Anything that needs to be handled, we will handle. Somehow. Don’t worry.”

Coincidentally, this is about what he would’ve said anyway.

They danced together in the middle of the garage. He smelt of oil. She smelt of green apples. Nathaniel Rateliff’s husky voice crooned in the background.

_Standing out on a ledge with no way to get down. You start praying for wings to grow. Oh, baby, just let go._

~~THE END~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _We've been through a lot together, haven't we?_
> 
> We sure have. To the people who have been there from the start - I love you. To the people who have joined along the way - I love you. To the people who have interacted on Twitter, Tumblr, AO3 - I love you. To the people who have reached out to me and said this story helped them through a difficult time - I love you. To the people who have shared this story - I love you. To WAAH NATION - I love you. 
> 
> As far as my immediate plans? There's a kdrama I plan to finish, a bottle of Lambrusco I plan to drink, and several hours of sleep I plan to catch up on. I've exhausted Love Island in the process of finishing this fic. Now I say things like, "Do you wanna go for a chat?" 
> 
> The next project on my docket is to rewrite a romance novel I started when I was sixteen, called 'Something Complicated.' I've wanted to write that story for a while. I didn't have the confidence until now. It'll be my first full novel, fingers-crossed. 
> 
> I hope to interact with you all every now and again. I hope you'll send me ideas for the sequel. I've left things as open-ended as I can, while also providing a "happy ending." I hope, above all, you leave this story satisfied. Perhaps Riverdale will return in July and you'll forget about "that step-sibling fic" you obsessed over during the hiatus. Perhaps I'll come back and surprise you when you least expect it. 
> 
> Until then, sending you all my love. 
> 
> CreativeBuzz

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to write this because: I’ve seen a lot of shade thrown towards Betty and Jughead for being step-siblings and—while HILARIOUS—the scenario offered me a unique challenge. To see if I could place a ship (which I love) in unfortunate circumstances and still have people root for them. I also wanted to see how their love might manifest differently being in even closer proximity to one another. Granted, in this fic, Betty and Archie don’t share a biological brother. Thus, their attraction is a bit easier to stomach than Bughead. Nevertheless—we’re all hypocrites.


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